The Loribond
by gythia
Summary: Sheridan's post Mars life is complicated by an old Minbari war crime.  Set between seasons 4 and 5. Warnings: contains violence, torture, and material unsuitable for young children. B5/ Time Yarns crossover.
1. Chapter 1

The Loribond

There were five of them. All human, all wearing bright blue buttons with the letters FPFP emblazoned in red. The woman had on a satin jacket in the same colors, with FPFP on the back in letters a foot high.

Their leader, a tall ebony man named Ikeboke, glanced behind him and saw the others hanging back. Carla was gawking, but the three men were crowded together as if for safety. Ike got them out of the way of the other disembarking passengers.

"My God," Carla whispered. "They're everywhere."

"That's kind of the point," Ike reminded her. "We came here to lose our fear of aliens, didn't we?"

"Maybe the others did. You don't have any fear, Ike. You even like that damn rocket rollercoaster."

Ike smiled and shepherded his organization toward customs. There really were aliens everywhere, including Minbari with their spiky bone head things where hair should have been.

The customs officer looked askance at their travel papers. Since Babylon 5 had been interdicted, the only other person to come in with documents saying he was officially allowed to travel from Earth to Babylon 5 was Bester, the PsiCop.

"Would you care to explain how you got these?" the customs official asked.

"I'd be more than happy to tell you about the FPFP," Ike responded. "FPFP is Former Prisoners For Peace. Now, we got permission to come here because the government thinks we're here to talk you guys out of making war. But we fooled them. FPFP is all about peace with aliens. Especially with Minbar. We're really here, well, to help ourselves make peace in our hearts. But we're also here to show you guys here on Babylon 5 that not everybody back on Earth agrees with Clark's anti alien policies. The FPFP believes that putting our heads in the sand and ignoring the rest of the galaxy can only lead to more war."

Ike's followers made little applauding motions that did not result in a very loud sound. They had all heard the speech before.

The official nodded and handed back the documents. "Alright. Welcome to Babylon 5."

They went through the famous Zocalo mall on the way to their hotel. One of the men had a panic attack and they all helped him to his room, but then Ike and Carla went out again.

"I wish you'd reconsider trying to contact that Ivanova lady," Carla said. "If you go on Voice of the Resistance I don't know if any of us will be able to go home."

"The sooner someone puts a stop to this madness, the sooner we can all go home to our flower gardens and let the galaxy spin along without our help. You know where this anti alien stuff is going, Carla. Sooner or later the scapegoat always becomes the sacrificial lamb."

\

The five people with the buttons were waiting outside the Authorized Personnel Only door when Commander Ivanova finished her broadcast. The tall man fell into step beside her as she walked toward the bar.

"We're the Former Prisoners For Peace, and we want to appear on your show."

"Voice of the Resistance isn't a talk show," she replied, eyes straight ahead. There was always somebody bugging her about being on the show or trying to interest her in their pet story.

"I think I can help. Your main message is about freedom, of course, but you could also counter Clark's anti alien propaganda. Hate leads to war. We're here to promote peace with the aliens, and I think I'd make a great poster boy for that cause. Let me introduce myself. I'm Ikeboke Graandal. Formerly Sergeant Ikeboke Graandal."

For the first time, Ivanova glanced aside from her goal. She broke stride and slowed down.

"Yes, that one," the tall African replied. "I see you've heard of me."

"Who hasn't? Well, who on Earth, anyway. And I do recognize you now."

"Now that you look at me," the man smiled.

\

Voice of the Resistance went on the air with Ivanova sitting next to a tall man with an FPFP button on his jacket. "Voice of the Resistance is pleased to bring you a special guest tonight. May I introduce Ikeboke Graandal, formerly a sergeant with the Fifth Infantry. You may remember him as the spokesman of the victims at the Loribond War Crimes Commission after the Earth-Minbari war. Ike?"

The man smiled like a preacher. "Thank you, Commander Ivanova. I've come a long way from the angry man I was then, when I first realized how being a victim of loribonding would affect my life after my return. No one trusted me, and I was medically discharged on psychological grounds. It's taken me many years to get my life back together, and I discovered that just healing our wounds isn't enough. And sitting around licking our wounds, dreaming of revenge, and blaming aliens for everything that goes wrong in the world only hurts us in the end. That's why I founded Former Prisoners For Peace. Because hate leads to war. And closing Earth off from aliens will only—pardon the expression—alienate us. The FPFP has traveled here to Babylon 5 from Earth to show our support for Babylon 5's original mission, to promote peace through understanding of alien species. And to show our continued support for Babylon 5 as they unite all the races of the galaxy in the cause of freedom. It warms my heart that some of the same Minbari who once fought against humanity are now fighting for the liberation of my people from the tyranny of Clark and the Nightwatch."

"Thank you, Ike. We now go to footage from the front lines."

Ike shook hands with Ivanova and left while the report from the field went out. Ivanova was alone at her newsdesk when the camera went back to her.

The other four members of FPFP waited for Ike in their hotel. "Mission accomplished," Ike announced as he walked in.

"You shouldn't have added that last line about Clark," Carla said. "Now we're stuck here."

"For the duration," Ike said. "But the way Sheridan fights, that probably won't be very long."

\

The five went out every day to mix with the aliens. Those who had more fear than Ike did made great progress, but they were all about ready to leave after the first few weeks.

"It won't be long now," Ike told them one day as they sat around the bar. "Sheridan's fleet has already reached Mars. Soon he'll liberate Earth, and then we can all go home."

That was when the ISN broadcast the news of Sheridan's capture.

Carla burst out crying.

The man who had started out his stay on the station by having an attack of agoraphobia in the Zocalo now stood up and reached out automatically to the people on either side of him, seeking comfort in the community of the station. One of those people was Ike, but on his other side was a lizard-like Drazzi.

The Drazzi looked at him as the man reached blindly for a nearby shoulder, his eyes locked on the ISN screen. The Drazzi nodded and patted the human hand that clutched his shoulder.

"We'll get him back," the Drazzi said. "He led the League and the Whitestar Fleet to victory in the Shadow War. Half his forces are Minbari. They consider him their war leader. Earth won't dare kill him."

The human turned wide eyes on the well-meaning Drazzi. "Oh no. Oh no."

On the other side of the Drazzi, a large, spike-headed warrior-caste Minbari slammed down his glass of nonalcoholic fizz. "If they do, I hope I get to be there when we take our revenge. Instead of being stuck here on patrol duty. Sure, defending the station is important, but I want to be where the action is!"

A smaller Minbari in the gold robe of the religious caste asked the warrior, "Since when do you care about Sheridan? Last night you were still calling him Starkiller."

"Yes, well, in the Shadow War, Admiral Starkiller was exactly what we needed."

The smaller Minbari said, "You said he was a sneaky ruthless bastard without honor."

"No, no, I didn't say without honor. I said he never let honor get in the way of victory. That was a compliment! You religious don't understand war."

"I suppose not. That doesn't sound like a compliment to me."

"Me neither," said the Drazzi. "You guys are strange sometimes, Firuun."

"You, human! What do you think?"

The man who had reached out to the Drazzi melted back in among his fellow humans, suddenly afraid.

Carla wiped her tears and said, "I understand. I was a ground-pounder."

"Mm?" Firuun turned his attention to Carla. He looked like he was trying to translate the term to himself, then suddenly yelled, "Gropo!"

Carla flinched.

The big warrior waved to the bartender. "This round's on me!" The barkeep set new glasses in front of everyone at the bar. The warrior picked up his fizz and climbed up onto the bar. "I hear the humans have a custom they call toasting!" he announced.

Ike whispered to Carla, "Is he drunk?"

"No, drunken Minbari don't make toasts, they kill everything in their path. They go totally nuts."

"I hope you'll all join me in a toast to Sheridan! Without him we wouldn't be here. Either the Shadows would rule the galaxy or the Vorlons would have killed everybody to get to them! When Delenn first turned over the Whitestar Fleet to Sheridan Starkiller I was ready to spit steel! But she was right. We Minbari did not know how to fight and win against an older race with superior technology. Sheridan did. When the Shadow War became a two front war against the Shadows and the Vorlons, I thought it was the end of history. But he led us to victory!"

The warrior raised his glass. "Sheridan! May he return!"

The rest of the bar, human and alien, drank and erupted in cheers. People echoed the name as they toasted, and it became a chant. Soon even Ike and Carla and FPFP were carried along in the mob mind, and shouted with the rest: "Sheridan! Sheridan! Sheridan!"

\

"Sheridan!" Number One called. "Your ride's here."

Dr. Franklin pressed a data crystal full of urgent instructions on the Captain's care into the pilot's hand. "It's very important that he be kept in isolation. Don't speak to him or go into the passenger compartment."

The pilot, a human Ranger, nodded and took the crystal.

"Captain Sheridan has been—"

"Doctor!" Sheridan interrupted as he half staggered toward the airlock. "The pilot doesn't need to know the reasons."

Franklin nodded. "Of course. Just see that crystal delivered to the chief medical officer of the flagship."

"It will be done," the Ranger said.

"Do you have anything to eat on this ship?" the Captain grated.

Number One peered out from beneath her blonde bangs. "There's a case of supplies under the first row of seats. Good luck, Captain. I'd shake your hand, but under the circumstances…"

Sheridan nodded. "I know. Don't worry, none of you have been around me long enough to form an accidental bond. I read up on the subject while you were all leaving me alone. The computer had a remarkable amount of information about the process."

"The Resistance keeps extensive files on interrogation techniques and drugs, even ones we think we'll never encounter."

"And I'm grateful that you do. I'll see you when this is all over. On a free Mars."

Sheridan turned to the doctor. "Steven. Tell Michael and Lyta good luck for me. And if you can, after the military targets are taken care of, try to see if you can find my father." He went to a seat and strapped himself in for the ride out of the gravity well. He reached under the seat ahead and pulled out the supply box. "That better not be a corned beef sandwich."

\

The pilot obeyed orders and did not go into the passenger compartment during the several hour long trip out to the space fleet. He docked with the Captain's Whitestar, opened the passenger lock remotely, and then went down to medbay to deliver the data crystal to the ship's doctor. The chief medical officer was busy with casualties from the last battle, and simply put the crystal on his desk without reading it.

Captain Sheridan knew that Dr. Franklin meant well, but he completely disagreed with the doctor's order of isolation. Sheridan had spent every waking moment of his aloneness studying the files and case histories, and he could not risk it.

When he saw the Ranger leave, and the doctor set down the crystal, Sheridan pocketed the data crystal and went to the bridge. The whole room wavered for a moment. Sheridan ignored it, as he had ignored all the other visual anomalies. They would go away in a few days.

"Lennier."

"Welcome back, Captain Sheridan."

"Give me fleet comm."

"Done."

"This is Captain John Sheridan. Just letting you all know I'm still alive and kicking. And we're going to kick some ass very soon. Captain out."

"Lennier, come with me. There's something that needs to be done."

Sheridan led Lennier to the Ranger's shuttle and slid in behind the stick. "Take a seat."

"Where are we going?"

"Nowhere special. I'll explain later." Sheridan took the shuttle out and headed toward one of the old style Minbari cruisers, one whose weapons were under repair and would not be participating in the battle. "You're the perfect choice," Sheridan said. He suddenly looked up and flinched, and the shuttle jinked as if avoiding fire.

"What is it?" asked Lennier.

"Manta ray."

"I saw nothing. What is a manta ray?"

Sheridan sighed. "It's a creature that lives in Earth's ocean. I know it wasn't really there. Just instinct, as I saw something fly past."

"Captain Sheridan, are you experiencing visual hallucinations?"

"Yes. Yes I am."

"Then perhaps I should fly the ship."

"Of course. Dock us with the Teeth."

They docked with the Minbari war cruiser Vengeance Teeth. It was a warrior caste ship. Sheridan looked momentarily confused as one of the crew approached him. Then his red-rimmed eyes hardened. "Everybody off. Into the shuttle. I'm commandeering this ship."

"Captain Sheridan?" the crewman asked.

"You heard me. Into the shuttle. I'll tell the Captain to announce it."

When the war cruiser's Captain and crew had left, Sheridan pointed out into deep space, away from Earth. "Take us over there, Mr. Lennier."

"On what heading?"

"Anywhere dark and quiet. Where nobody will look for a while. This ship's engines still work, it's the weapons that were damaged. We'll be back before the battle starts. Plenty of time to transfer back to the Whitestar."

"Captain, if I may ask…"

"You may, and I'll explain everything once we're away. Right now I need to get away from the fleet before someone finds out I'm going and tries to stop me for my own good."

"If you are ill, Captain—"

"I'm not. I've been drugged. You're going to help me deal with it. We're still in time. Just at the perfect time. Go, go. To the middle of nowhere."

Lennier opened a jump point and launched the ship into hyperspace. He brought it out in the dark between the stars, where the only point of reference for navigation was an old ball of ice, a comet that no longer circled any star.

"Alright, we're here. In the middle of nowhere, just like you said."

"Good. Let's get settled. We'll bring some supplies from the galley to one of the sleeping chambers so we won't have to leave once we're set up."

"Set up for what?'

Sheridan didn't answer right away. He said nothing until they had dragged some cases of food and water to one of the bunk rooms. Sheridan adjusted one of the sleeping platforms as flat as it would go and lay down.

"Finally, I can get some rest. I imagine they're probably going nuts back at the fleet. But Dr. Franklin was keeping me in isolation, and that's probably what the other doctors would have chosen, too. But it's too great a risk for me to take. Somebody has to usurp the bond. Or I risk forming a bond with the interrogator who gave me the drug. And then it wouldn't be safe for me to be in command of anything more complicated than a bookdisk, much less a fleet action."

"What?"

"You're probably wondering why I chose you. There are two reasons. First, I know you and trust you already. That gives us a leg up. Second, even though you act as a second in command by relaying my orders to the crew, translating them into Minbari, you're not really one of my subordinates. I'm not sure I could bond properly to one of my own men. The psychology of the power relationship is all wrong."

"What are you talking about, Captain?"

"And thirdly, I know you're fanatically loyal to Delenn, which means you would never go against her interests. And seeing as I'm one of her interests, that means, that means…" Sheridan waved a hand in front of his face. "Who turned on the damned strobe light? Oh, good, thanks for turning that off." He scratched his growth of beard. "What was I saying?"

"There was no strobe light in here, Captain. Are you sure it would not be better to return to the fleet?"

"I'm sure. Like I said, I can't risk bonding to an enemy. Who the hell knows who that guy really was, maybe just a Clarkist bureaucrat, but for all I know he could be a Shadow servant."

"Captain Sheridan, you are confused and are seeing things that are not there. Start making sense right now or I am taking you back to the fleet, and straight to the medbay."

"Oh. Sure. That's better. You do have to start taking charge if this is going to work."

Lennier started walking toward the door. "I'm going up to the bridge to take us back to the fleet."

"Loritril."

Lennier turned around. "What?"

"The drug. The drug the interrogator gave me. It's loritril."

"But if you're on loritril and I'm here with you, you'll… Captain Sheridan, loribonding is an atrocity. You can't ask me—"

"I'm not asking. I need you, Lennier. If I stay in isolation there's a big chance I'll end up bonded to the one who started the process. To be sure that doesn't happen someone has to usurp the bond. I explained why I chose you. It's too late to go back and choose someone else. We're barely in time as it is. I've read everything that Free Mars had on the loribonding process. I brought the files with me, too."

He reached into his pocket and came up with two data crystals. "Oh. Right. Plus the one Franklin made."

Lennier walked slowly over and took the crystals. He nodded. "I understand. You are making sense now. And you're right, we can't risk you becoming loribonded to an enemy."

"Good. So, let's review the process and—"

"Let us get one thing straight right now, Captain Sheridan. If you are to become loribonded to me, that means I'm in charge. Starting now, and until the testing is finished, you do not give orders to me. Understand?"

"Right. Good. Yes."

"Get up."

Sheridan looked confused when he climbed off the sleeping platform. But then, he had already been looking confused since he returned from captivity on Mars. His stubbly face was grey with fatigue, his cheeks sunken, his hair sticking out as spikily as a Minbari's head bone, and his eyes staring right through the walls, when they weren't darting toward drug-induced illusions.

Lennier readjusted the platform to its normal angle. "It makes me nervous to see you lying at the angle of death. So you will recline at the angle of life. For me."

Sheridan nodded. He got back on the platform and tried to relax. "It's a start," he commented.

"Now, you will rest while I read the information in these crystals. And I believe the info banks of this ship will probably have even more information than your Mars Resistance could provide. This old warship is of the era when loritril was a standard issue psychiatric drug."

"It was? I thought it was just used for, well, brainwashing."

"Loribonding is not the same as brainwashing."

"That's how the interrogator on Mars was trying to use it."

"Then he did not understand what it really does. It was actually intended to help people. It was first aid for psychological trauma, meant to help people get over natural disasters, accidents, and war. Every warship carried it, to use on its own crew. The loribond was an unintended side effect. It was not discovered until it had been in general use for years. And not until it started being used by the worker caste. They prize an independence of spirit that the warrior and religious castes do not. Their ideal is that of the master craftsman, who trains apprentices only to let them go and become their own masters. When a member of the warrior caste became instantly obedient and loyal unto death, no one noticed any difference from his normal behavior. And among the religious, devotion to a superior is completely normal, as well. As I am devoted to Delenn, for example."

"And as Delenn was devoted to Dukhat."

"Yes. But when a large group of members of the worker caste who had lived through the quake disaster suddenly became dependent on their doctor, that was when we noticed that something was wrong. Loritril was investigated and quickly pulled off the market."

"And then some mad scientist got the idea to use the loribond effect to break prisoners of war."

"Yes."

"And it worked."

"Not exactly. Actually, I understand the victims are remarkably well adjusted, compared to other captured soldiers. Apparently, the drug really does still work as an aid to recovery from trauma, even when it's not intended to."

"Huh. Great for them, being all nice and well adjusted after being released, sent back to their units, and then shooting them all in the back on a word from those they were bonded to."

"That is why we Minbari were just as outraged when we found out about this as you humans were. Why we were prepared to hand over those responsible, until we found out that Earth considers war crimes a capital offence. We could not send them to be killed. Minbari do not kill Minbari. But we made the bond itself illegal, and everyone who holds another bonded is legally a war criminal, unless it was an accidental bond from the era before we pulled loritril off the market. When this process is finished, Captain Sheridan, I may well go to prison."

"No. They can't call this a war crime, we're on the same side."

"I think you do not understand Minbari law."

"Probably not. Alright then, we just won't mention this to anyone. Dr. Franklin knows I've been dosed with loritril, but he's not here, and doesn't know I'm not in isolation. Nobody except the crew of this ship knows we've left the fleet. And they're all warrior caste Minbari, I doubt they're going to socialize with Dr. Franklin much. And if all else fails you can just ask Delenn you pardon you, can't you?"

"I could, but it would reflect badly on her."

"So would letting you go to prison. That's the strategy I'm planning to use, when this war is over. Ask whoever the next President is for a pardon. Once Babylon 5 rejoins the Earth Alliance, and I'm officially back in Earth Force, well, I don't even want to think about all the different regulations I've bent into little origami shapes. I don't have much of a career left with Earth Force, but if people back home find out I've been loribonded that will wreck my career for good."

"Are you having second thoughts about this?"

"No." The word was decisive. Sheridan closed his eyes and said nothing more.

Lennier got a data reader out of the supply boxes they had carted in, and began reviewing the crystals.

Sheridan woke up to see a giant cylindrical object waving its translucent arms at him. He rolled off the sleeping platform and cowered back, but the being disappeared.

"What did you see?" Lennier asked.

"A sea enemy, enem, en…" Sheridan straightened up, rubbed his eyes and started over. "A sea anemone."

"Interesting. Another being from Earth's oceans. I wonder why?"

"Who knows? Maybe it'll be pink elephants next. I've really got to wonder about a people who would develop a hallucinogen as a psychiatric drug."

"Loritril is not a hallucinogen. Technically. I've read the information in this ship's computer. It's designed to blur the lines between the sleep and waking states. To give you access to your unconscious."

Sheridan grunted. "Find out anything else interesting?"

"The Mars Resistance crystal had the most relevant information. It outlined the process for bonding and phrasing, and the levels of testing."

"You know all you need to make this work, then?"

"Yes. Here." Lennier handed him a sealed water bottle and ration pack.

Sheridan broke the seals and sat down on a supply box.

"Did you dream?"

"I suppose. It's hard to tell the difference, when I see things when I'm awake."

"That's the way it's supposed to be. Hard to tell the difference, I mean. This process mostly takes place in your mind. Very little needs to be done in physical reality. I'm not going to tell you which parts are—it's difficult to render in human speech. Which are ren and which are timab."

"What's that?"

"Ren is historical truth. Factual truth. Things that take place in physical reality. Timab is a religious truth. A metaphoric truth. But it is no less true."

"Oh no. No you don't. No, no, no, no, no, no. Don't you dare say the truth is fluid."

What happened next registered in reverse order. First Sheridan became aware that he was lying on the floor, his bottle spilled from his hand, his feet draped awkwardly over the box. Then he noticed the pain in his gut, where he had been punched and kicked during the fight in the bar and again during the softening up after his capture, before the interrogator arrived. Then he noticed the maroon streak that was Lennier's clothing in motion.

For a moment he just lay there, trying to reorder his thoughts to make sense. He knew the drug was affecting him more strongly than before. It was kicking in fully now.

"Lennier?"

"Yes?" 

"Did you just hit me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I told you. You don't give me orders. Not here, not now."

"Oh. Um. Please, don't say the truth is fluid?"

"Of course it's not. There are simply different kinds of truth."

"Oh hell. You're not really Lennier. I'm still on Mars."

Lennier picked up the bottle and capped it and set it upright on the floor. "Do you really think the Clarkists would try to loribond you to a Minbari?"

"Maybe. If they thought they couldn't break me, why not prove themselves right about my being under alien influence?"

"You have a very devious mind, Captain Sheridan. But if you think about it, I'm sure you'll see why they couldn't really parade you in public if they thought that you were loribonded to a real person whom you would recognize, and whom is not under their control."

Sheridan got up and sat back down on the box. "You're right. So what's next?"

"A phrase."

"I read about that. You guys abandoned li as the phrase pretty quickly, because it's too easy to say by mistake in English. The counterphrase is always loridano."

"Correct. A good phrase is distinctive. Easy to remember. Not too long, in case it needs to be said in an emergency. And not something one is likely to drop into a casual conversation."

"And not a verb," Sheridan added. "I read the case history about the poor yahoo whose phrase was a curse word that his Minbari captors didn't realize could be interpreted as a command in itself."

"Yes, I read that one too. Most distressing."

"I can think of a word you're not likely to say by accident. I've never heard you say it. But I doubt you'd forget what it was."

"Tell it to me."

"Starkiller."

"Captain Sheridan, I can't call you that."

"Good. If you're embarrassed to say it, you're less likely to."

"I would never phrase you except under the most dire necessity."

"I know. But there's a lot of that going around these days."

Lennier nodded. "It does meet all the criteria. Fine. If you want it, it makes it easier. It's always easier when the subject picks his own phrase."

Sheridan started out of his seat when he saw the giant squid rise up out of the floor. But he knew he was dreaming, dreaming while awake, and made himself sit back down. "More sea creatures," he said. Its long, suckered tentacles reached for him, twined around him.

"Why?" Lennier asked.

"I don't know."

"Who is the sea enemy?"

Sheridan looked up. "Well—you, I guess. Minbari ships. Old style Minbari war cruisers like this one, always reminded me of some giant predatory fish."

Lennier nodded. "It's working, you see. The drug is trying to process old trauma for you. It works through the dream state, speaking in timab. Metaphoric truth."

The squid wrapped Sheridan's arms tightly to his sides. It looked at him with its squidly eye. It inked, and the cloud spread over the room. Like the Shadow planet killer cloud.

Sheridan closed his eyes, just before the cloud touched him. He had the irrational impulse to ask Lennier to make it go away, but he knew the squid and its ink cloud were only in his mind, so he said nothing.

Several minutes passed. Finally the sensation of wet, rubbery suckers fell away, and Sheridan opened his eyes. There was only the room again, full of tilted Minbari sleeping platforms like playground see-saws. "Damn. For a hallucination, that squid could really squeeze."

Sheridan noticed another box had been placed in front of him, like a table. He got a chill up his back before he even noticed the PPG sitting on the box.

"Starkiller. Shoot yourself."

Sheridan blinked, picked up the gun and actually chuckled, for the first time since his capture. "Lennier, there's no energy cap. I know this gun won't fire."

"Of course not. Why would I bother with bonding, phrasing, and testing you if I was going to let you die?"

Then Lennier kicked the box out from under him, and Sheridan fell to the floor. He gasped as week-old injuries twinged.

"When I say your phrase, you will do as instructed without hesitation. Do you understand?"

Sheridan sat up. He stared up through grimy, reddened eyes, and his voice was all gravel. "Yes."

Lennier gestured Sheridan forward. Sheridan started to push up from the floor with his hands and saw he still had hold of the PPG. He scooted around, levering himself up with one hand, and found himself sitting with his feet tucked under his hindquarters. He realized he was kneeling.

"Starkiller. Shoot yourself."

Sheridan brought the PPG up to his head and pulled the trigger. Of course, nothing happened. He set the gun back down on top of the box-table.

"Good. You've passed the level one test."

"Is it over?"

"No. You are still in the grip of the drug. It is at the height of its power to blur the lines between your conscious mind and what lies beneath. Now you dream."

Lennier pointed to the nearest sleeping platform. "Starkiller. Sleep."

Sheridan rose slowly to his feet. The room wavered like rippling water, and everything ached. He climbed up and lay down with a pained sigh.

When he woke up, Sheridan found Lennier waiting for him. "Starkiller. Follow me." He followed Lennier down a corridor and to an airlock. The viewscreen showed a starfield beyond it.

"Starkiller. Go out the airlock."

Sheridan merely glanced at Lennier for a moment before entering the lock. He opened the suit locker, and found there were no space suits in it.

"It's got to be a trick," Sheridan told himself. "It's easy enough to fake a viewscreen image."

He stood in front of the outer door and put his hand on the opening pad. The lock chimed and opened.

Sound hit him: a buzz of voices, and the background hum of the station. He smelled the recycled air, the bodies and the metal and the vents from the restaurant grill in the Zocalo. He stepped out the airlock. Babylon 5 was beyond it.

He smiled. "I knew it was a trick."

Delenn hurried up to him. "Thank Valen you're here in time."

He was confused. Delenn was supposed to be en route to join him and the fleet at Mars. She was not expecting him back at the station.

He reached out to touch her arms, in the awkward almost-embrace that was his usual way. Delenn grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her. "The Council is meeting right now."

"Delenn, I'm very tired. All I want in the galaxy is to lie down in a nice flat bed and sleep like the dead. Whatever the Council wants, can't it wait til I've at least had a shave?"

"It's Kosh. He wishes to address the Council."

"Kosh? Kosh is dead. Both Koshes."

The station passed by too quickly; they were already in the Council room. And there was Kosh, in his old encounter suit. Or, partially out of it. The streaming light filled the room. It began to pulse. Then it began to strobe.

Darkness and light: like still pictures at night. People moved around him in stop-motion. Like a camera flash going off.

He was not in the Council room. He was in the bar on Mars where Garibaldi had betrayed him. He was fighting in slow motion. And he was losing. His enemies took him down like a pack of dogs taking down a lion.

"Alien-lover," one of the men said. "You're so fond of getting screwed by the Minbari that you want to make sure they all screw over the rest of us too."

"That didn't happen," Sheridan murmured. "They didn't say anything to me when they were beating me up."

One of the men had a steel spike. No, not a spike exactly: the end was blunt. Some sort of weapon or tool Sheridan did not recognize.

Lennier's voice, as if reading to him: "The level three test is the ultimate act of submission."

The man with the spike smashed one of the lamps, and flaming lamp oil ran down the steel instrument. "Lamp oil?" Sheridan heard his own voice in his head, although his lips were not moving. "The bar had electric lights."

Lennier's voice again, speaking as if in an aside, commenting on the written material. "This is, of course, a euphemism."

Sheridan was down. The men in the bar kept kicking him.

"This is the only time I am going to tell you which parts of this happen in timab, and which parts happen in ren. I will not require the ultimate act of submission of you in ren. Only in timab."

The man in the bar brandished the oily spike. "Hold him down, boys."

During the entire week of torture on Mars, Sheridan had not screamed. This time, he screamed. Just for a second, in as much surprise as pain. Then he held his breath.

He came awake on the slanted sleeping platform, choking back a scream. The pain snapped off like a lightswitch as soon as he woke up. He was covered in cold sweat.

Sheridan sat up and slid off the platform, gasping to recover the breath he had held in his sleep.

"Was that—what the hell was that?" Sheridan grated.

"Guided meditation," Lennier replied.

"Never do that to me again."

Lennier hooked a leg behind Sheridan's ankle and swept his feet out from under him. Sheridan fell against the side of the platform, crunching an aching rib. He got a hand behind him and steadied himself, and managed not to fall to the floor.

"You forget yourself. Starkiller." Lennier handed Sheridan a bundle of wires and some kind of round things. "Put these on."

Sheridan looked at the bundle without comprehension. "How?"

"Use the suction cups."

Sheridan shuddered, thinking of the giant squid. Then he realized what he was holding, and nearly fell down. He looked at Lennier in horror. But his hands were moving by themselves. Disrobing himself.

He attached the suction cups, each with its attached wire, in random places. Lennier had him reposition a few of them. One to each sole of the foot, for example.

"These things leave marks," Sheridan said.

"Only for a few days," replied Lennier. "You can't let a fleet doctor examine you anyway, when you get back. He might run a blood panel, and discover the drug."

"Right."

"Starkiller. Get up on the platform."

This time Sheridan didn't even think about it. He just climbed up.

"I suppose now you're going to torture me."

"No. The level four test is to torture yourself." Lennier handed him the control box. "Starkiller. Zap yourself."

Sheridan did not scream. He only made little strangled grunts, punctuated with gasps.

The shell of the ship opened out, and Sheridan floated among the stars. The green fire of nebulae became the aurora borealis over Earth's northern skies.

Flights of rockets spiraled through the air. Fireworks? Missiles. Missiles going up. Missiles coming down. Dust clouds as they impacted in the cornfield.

Sheridan opened his eyes on the sleeping platform. He was covered with cloth of gold. He got up and the fabric turned out to be a religious-caste Minbari robe. He put it on.

Where was Lennier?

"Don't leave me alone," Sheridan moaned.

He shambled out of the sleeping room and wandered the ship at random.

He came into a circular room with spotlights, like the war room aboard his Whitestar. Lennier was standing in one of the spotlights holding the PPG. Sheridan noticed that this time, it had an energy cap.

Sheridan moved to stand in another spotlight. Lennier put the PPG in his hand and pointed to another spotlight.

A cloaked figure moved into the light. It pulled down its black hood.

"Anna?"

Her features were unmistakable, despite the burns on her face and the ashes for hair.

"John. Come with me. To Zahadum."

"This already happened. But it didn't happen this way."

"The drug is designed to help you deal with traumas," Lennier said.

"If this is a test," Sheridan said, looking down at the gun, "Can I say goodbye to her first?"

"Of course."

"Anna. I'm sorry I killed you. No. No, I'm not sorry for that. You're better off. Never quite whole, Justin said. You weren't really you by then. No. I'm sorry I didn't save you before it happened. Before you became a Shadow pilot. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

Anna just looked at him. Her mind was gone. Her eyes were a Shadow pilot's eyes.

"I'm sorry I was never there for you. Your career, my career, we were always off on some assignment. You, digging up old graves. Me, making new ones. I'm sorry I never gave you a child."

Blue shapes moved in the shadows: tears, arcing away as if in zero-g. Bright blue like a child's drawing of the sea. The child he never gave her.

Sheridan straightened his spine. He nodded to Lennier.

"You do not wish to embrace her?"

"No. The thing I killed was a Shadow of her old self. If there was anything left of Anna by then, I set it free. But a Shadow pilot isn't a human being. It's a weapon. It's got Anna's face but it doesn't have Anna's soul. It is an abomination."

Lennier intoned, "Starkiller. Kill Anna Sheridan."

Sheridan raised the gun and fired.

\

He jerked awake on the sleeping platform. The suction cups were still attached. He pulled them off and rolled out of bed. He winced when his feet hit the floor; his muscles had cramped up.

Lennier was lying in the next bunk, watching him.

"That was the level five test," Sheridan stated, one hand on the platform to keep himself upright as the room wheeled drunkenly about him.

"Yes."

"Is it over?"

"Not quite. You know that took place in timab. The presence of a person who is known to be dead proves that. The final level of testing must take place in ren."

"There is nothing above five."

"There is six."

"Level six is a euphemism for a real mission. For betraying your unit."

"Or your ship," Lennier said.

"Right. But you and I are on the same side."

"Actually, level 6 can be done as a test, under the right circumstances. It is just usually not possible to simulate, so it is tested in the field."

"So you've got some trick up your sleeve."

"Perhaps. Starkiller. Follow me." Lennier led the way to the bridge. The layout was similar to a Whitestar's bridge, but without the Vorlon influences it looked purely Minbari.

On the forward viewscreen, an Earth Alliance warship lay dead ahead, so close its bridge module filled the screen. It was the Agamemnon.

Lennier pointed to the gunner's station.

Sheridan went to it. "I get it," he said. "That's a derelict, left over from the Earth-Minbari war. Painted up to look like it's in fighting trim. Its damage mocked over. The Agamemnon name painted on the side. You couldn't have had this done in this length of time, though. I know how long the full effect of the drug is supposed to last. I read about it, before we started. It's still today."

Wild paranoia blossomed in Sheridan's heart. "How long have you been planning this?"

"This was your idea, Captain Sheridan. You asked me to loribond you. No, you demanded it."

"Mm. No, this is far too Byzantine for you." He snapped his fingers. "Marcus! Marcus set this up. Because I'm a loose cannon. It takes one to know one, and Marcus is as loose as they come. He's been known to take independent action that he thought would benefit Delenn. Harebrained schemes, mostly, but they've worked so far. That's it. Marcus set this up with Garibaldi. The men in the bar weren't Clarkists, or mercenaries. They were Rangers."

"That is ridiculous, Captain Sheridan. Look at the timing. Why would allies of Delenn kidnap you in the middle of your short victorious war?"

"I don't know." Sheridan cast about for an answer that would make sense, but none occurred to him. "I don't know," he said again, more softly. "But how did you get all this work done so quickly?"

"Adjust the magnification," Lennier invited, gesturing at the viewscreen.

Sheridan zoomed in closer. "It's perfect. Flawless. It sure doesn't look like a wreck."

"It's not. Adjust it the other way."

Sheridan zoomed out. The space around the Agamemnon swarmed with other ships: Whitestars, old style Minbari war cruisers, Earth Alliance ships, all kinds of ships.

"We're back at the fleet. That's really the Agamemnon."

"Yes."

"I can't. Lennier, I can't. Never mind the moral question, if I fire at one of the ships that's following me into battle, they'll all distrust me. I can't lead the fleet to victory that way."

"That is the test," Lennier said. "You will either pass or you will fail. And I can't let you fail. If you don't pass this time, we will simply start over from level one. This time everything will take place in ren."

"Including…" Sheridan was going to say, including level three. Of all the things that had happened over the past week, that was the only one that truly frightened him, in a fundamental way that had nothing to do with pain.

"Yes, including level 5. Level 5 is killing one of your own. Perhaps I'll start with Ivanova."

"No. Lennier, no."

He shrugged. "She's going to die anyway. Hadn't you heard?"

"No."

"Well. If we get through the testing fast enough, perhaps you can visit her before the end."

"That's cruel, Lennier."

"That is the test. If you get back to six and fail again, I'll start you again. And again. Until you pass. You said yourself you could not risk becoming loribonded to the Martian interrogator. Whoever he was. Clarkist, Shadow servant, or whoever. If you fail, it means that I have not usurped the bond. And you will be bonded to the torturer."

"It's not worth this."

"Isn't it?"

"No! Not to save my career, dammit, no. Delenn can finish the war. One of the defectors can talk to Earthdome when we get there. Captain James, maybe."

"This is not about your career, Captain Sheridan."

"Yes it is! If I end up loribonded to an enemy, even I wouldn't trust me with command of the fleet. But if I end up loribonded to anybody, and it gets out, Earthdome would never let me remain in command of anything. Certainly not a space station. Even if the restored government absolves me of any wrongdoing in this war."

"And what happens after you are no longer the commander of Babylon 5? After you are no longer the equal and strong leader with which Delenn fell in love?"

"What?"

"If you're bonded to me, at least she will trust you. If you're bonded to an enemy, she can't. You'd have to be kept in total isolation from the public, never going anywhere, so your controller would not have a chance to speak to you. Or else you could not be trusted with command of your own hands. Delenn would have to keep you in her quarters, in chains. As a pet. For the rest of your life. And that would break her heart."

Sheridan stared at Lennier for a long moment. "You love her."

"Yes."

"Then why…" He trailed off.

"Because I love her. With a nonpossessive love. A pure love. The kind that seeks nothing for itself. Your return, strong and whole, is my gift to her."

"I had no idea."

"That is why I can't let you fail. Why I'll keep you here for however long it takes, going through however many of our mutual friends it takes, until you pass. Until I'm sure you're loribonded to me, and not to the enemy."

"I see it in your eyes. You really would."

"For her. For the love we share for Delenn. Give over your will to me."

He nodded. Sighed. There was a hard set to his face. This was not brainwashing. He was no automaton. This was a choice. He chose.

"Yes."

"Starkiller. Target the Agamemnon and fire."

Sheridan's hands went down on the firing controls.

Nothing happened.

He looked up at the screen. He expected to see the Agamemnon burning in space, flames shooting out with the escaping oxygen. He expected to see the bridge destroyed. Bodies floating away. The bodies of Captain James, and the other men and women whose careers Sheridan had carefully nurtured.

The Agamemnon floated before him, serene and unscathed. Its metal panels flashed in the red light reflecting off Mars like a pink steel patchwork quilt.

"Huh. This ship. I forgot. This ship's weapons were damaged. This gun won't fire." He turned to Lennier. "That was the trick."

"Congratulations, Captain Sheridan. You passed the level six test."

"Then. Then. Then let's get back to the Whitestar. We have a war to win."

\

A deep voice boomed out over the Zocalo. "Carla! Look! It's Sheridan! He's returned!"

The crowd surged and pressed toward the entrance of Captain Sheridan. An ISN cameraman elbowed Vir aside to get a good angle on the Captain's triumphant return.

The ISN crew got a great shot of a large, black-armored Minbari warrior grabbing Sheridan by the legs and lifting him up onto his shoulders. Replays of the event clearly showed panic on Sheridan's face.

"Whoa!" Sheridan called, whether at the Minbari or at his own security officers, who had drawn their guns, it was not clear.

Firuun held onto Sheridan's boots to balance him on his shoulder pauldrons. "Three cheers for Admiral Starkiller!"

Carla, in her bright FPFP jacket, responded enthusiastically. "Hip, hip, hooray!" She led the crowd in a cheer.

Sheridan waved good-naturedly at the crowd and the reporters. By the time the crowd quieted down, he was smiling.

"Thank you all for the warm welcome. Though I must admit it was a little disconcerting. It wasn't so very long ago that being grabbed on the street by a Minbari warrior shouting 'Starkiller' would have been a bad thing."

The crowd laughed. Firuun and Carla laughed too.

"I appreciate your support through this difficult time. I could not have achieved all I have, except that I'm standing on the shoulders of giants."

This brought an even bigger laugh from the crowd.

"Now, I don't have any prepared notes, so I'm quite literally speechless."

A roar of laughter.

"Hey, it looks like I can't go wrong no matter what I say. You'd all applaud if I read the latest baseball statistics."

The crowd erupted in applause and shrill whistles.

When the crowd quieted down again, an ISN reporter maneuvered his way in front of his cameraman and called, "President Sheridan! What's the first thing you're going to do as the head of the new Interstellar Alliance?"

"Stand on my own feet. Put me down, please."

Then Firuun set Sheridan down. The top of Sheridan's head came level with the Minbari's shoulder armor. Sheridan glanced up as if thinking, I'm glad this guy is on my side.

Firuun raised a fist in the air and began chanting, "Sheridan! Sheridan! Sheridan!" Carla and the other bar regulars picked it up right away, and from there it spread through the rest of the crowd. "Sheridan! Sheridan! Sheridan!"

Sheridan slipped back out of the Zocalo. "You were right," he told Delenn. "We'd better take the back way to our quarters."

The End


	2. Chapter 2

The Bar Fight

This is a sequel to The Loribond.

"So how come you get to hang out at the bar every night, Firuun?" Carla asked. "Isn't your station leave ever going to end?"

Firuun tossed off the rest of his nonalcoholic fizz. "Our Captain instituted shifts. We get to come over here whenever we're not on duty. For as long as the Crushing Fist is stationed here." He signaled the barkeep for another round. "What about you? I heard Ike and the rest of the FPFP went back to Earth."

"I decided I like it here. I'm going to wear the jacket forever—well, assuming I don't gain too much more weight—but the FPFP is no longer what I need to keep myself going. I've moved past that stage now. On to something else. Not sure what yet. But I got a job down the mallway over there. Not much, but it's a start. I'm looking for something more my speed, maybe in private security. They've got to have a need for that around here."

The bartender delivered Firuun's drink, and took orders from the usual crew, including the Drazzi and the religious that had been there when Carla met Firuun.

"Hey, look!" Firuun boomed suddenly.

Carla jumped a little, but then settled down and looked where he was pointing. A crowd of green-uniformed gropos had just come in.

"Anybody you know?"

Carla scanned the faces. "Nope. Too young, anyway. I bet those are raw recruits on their first trip off world."

The religious, Senshac, said, "I would have deduced that from the way they stare at us."

The soldiers ordered drinks and gawked about at all the aliens.

The Drazzi wondered, "What are they doing here? They must have come off an Earth Alliance warship. But where are they going?"

"Showing the flag, probably," Carla said. "First order of business back home, from a military point of view: establish that an Earth Alliance warship can dock here peacefully."

"Of course," Firuun agreed. "Like a phalanx of 'guests' after a clan war. You humans are just like we were a couple of thousand years ago. I grew up on those old stories. Heroes out of ancient tales, in the deeps of time. Tiluun was always my favorite. He was the greatest clan leader of the days before Valen. A fierce warrior, with a keen mind, who started out with a small clan with few resources and conquered the whole world. Because of his brains more than anything else, and his fighting spirit. And the way he could turn former enemies into allies, by treating them fairly after he defeated them."

Firuun sipped at his fizz. "He was not of my clan, but he was of my region of Minbar. I got to see a lot of his battle sites when I was learning the way of the warrior. In the Earth war—well, I guess we've had another Earth war now, haven't we? In the Earth-Minbari war, I often wished that I could meet just one officer like Tiluun, someday. I saw our own officers bumbling their way to victory because of superior technology. Wasting our lives with pointless exercises of what they called honor, which meant arbitrary rules about what weapons and strategies we could use. Things that made no sense. Then they blamed the enemy when even one of us got killed, and tried to get us to hate them."

"Did you ever get your wish?" Carla asked.

"Yes. Yes, I did meet one officer like Tiluun. Right when I thought my life was over."

"I sense a war story coming on," Carla grinned. "Barkeep! Another beer!"

Some of the other bar regulars moved closer. No one had ever heard Firuun's story before.

"Tiluun made total war. He never let honor get in the way of victory. He had a small force, ill equipped, but he won the Battle of Kerlett by setting traps and then springing an ambush. And then he sent his men into the burning waste to pull the survivors out of the pits. He rescued all his surviving enemies, and when his men made sport of them, he said, 'They will be treated with dignity or I will cast you into the pit'."

"And?" The Drazzi asked. "Which of your leaders was like Tiluun?"

Firuun was staring into his drink, looking far away.

After a pause, Carla prodded, "So, no shit, there you were…"

"There I was. I was suited up for outside work. Repairing a navigation vane. When the ship hit the mines. Traps, and an ambush. And I might have drifted in space forever when I was blown free of the wreckage, but they searched for survivors, sending out their small ships. They pulled me in when my suit was running out of air. They snapped the power pack off the back of my work suit, which weighs a quarter ton in gravity and can't be operated without power. Some of them were laughing at the way I was pinned to the deck. And that's when I met him. Tiluun reborn."

In the listening silence, the young gropo's voice carried to the regulars. "I said, Sheridan is a Denebian slime devil with delusions of godhood!"

Firuun jumped to his feet.

The human soldier was facing away from him, leaning over a table of Babylon 5 personnel. One of the stationers said, "Go away, kid. We're all tired."

Firuun hulked up behind the gropo, tapped him on the shoulder, waited for him to turn around, and then decked him with a right cross to the jaw.

The other gropos got to their feet, but hesitated to change targets from human stationers to the giant Minbari in the black armor.

The young soldier started to get up, but Firuun pointed at him and bellowed, "Stay down or this becomes den sha!"

Carla rushed over. "Firuun, no! This is the way Earth soldiers from different units invite each other to fight. It's not supposed to be lethal!"

"Oh?" Firuun's voice was back at his normal volume, which was still astonishingly loud. "And you humans say we Minbari have a ritual for everything! You have a ritual for starting a bar fight?"

"Yes," Carla explained. "It goes back to a prespaceflight form of entertainment, a play or something. Though I think the kid got the wording a little mixed up. Some humans just like to fight, so we give each other a chance when we can. But nobody is supposed to get killed."

"Oh. Then I take back the threat of den sha. Some Minbari just like to fight too. We're called the warrior caste. Maybe you've heard of us?"

Carla laughed and slapped Firuun on the back. "Good one, Firuun!"

Wide-eyed and trying to look brave, the young ground-pounder got to his feet. "So what's Sheridan to you, Minbari?"

"The greatest war leader of the last three thousand years!" Firuun boomed. "Nobody insults him while I'm here!"

From his seat, Senshac scorned, "You still call him Starkiller, Firuun."

"I have a right to! I was on the Blackstar when he destroyed it!"

The bar went still. Nobody even rustled.

Firuun lowered his voice to a near whisper. "I could see it in his eyes. When I was looking up at him, from the floor of the cargo lock of the Lexington. He was Tiluun reborn."

There was a long silence. The young soldier looked like he was trying to work up his courage to start the fight back up.

The bartender called out, "Alright, alright, everybody, go back to your drinks. We don't want any trouble in here."

From the table of stationers, a man with an adolescent voice and an unevenly tailored uniform said, "Well, speak of the devil."

They all followed his gaze and saw Sheridan in the doorway. "Mr. Allen, I need you."

The stationer in the ill fitting jacket got up and skirted around the gropo and the Minbari warrior.

"Sir," Firuun addressed Sheridan, "I don't know if you remember me..."

Sheridan cocked his head and then his best Captain-Smiley grin broke out on his face. "Oh, yeah! I know you. You're that guy I stood on."

"Yes! That was me."

"Glad to see you're having a good time on the station." Then he turned to Mr. Allen and they hurried away on station business.

Firuun was gazing at the door where Sheridan had gone. "He recognized me." There was awe in his voice, and excitement, and joy.

"You're crazy, Minbari," said the gropo. "And I don't think I feel like fighting anymore."

"Oh. Too bad. Well, you're a little small for me anyway."

"He is," said another gropo, standing up, "but I'm not." The new soldier was not as tall as Firuun, but he was solidly built.

"What's your commander's name, human?" Firuun asked.

"Cruz."

"Cruz is a… what's the right wording, Carla?"

Carla reached up and took him by one horn, and pulled his small Minbari ear down to her, and whispered in it.

Firuun straightened back up. "Cruz is a tin plated dictator with delusions of godhood. And a Denebian slime devil. And that's just my opinion too."

The bigger gropo charged and punched at Firuun, who did not bother to block, but let his chest armor take the blow. Then he grinned and counterattacked. The other gropos jumped into the fight, and Carla, much to her amazement, found herself coming in on Firuun's side.

She grabbed a barstool and hit a green flank with it, and she laughed. She had not been in a good bar fight since she was forced out of the Marines.

The gropo who had tried to start the fight with the stationers kicked her in the shins. Carla grabbed him and swung him into a table.

Then the whole bar erupted in swinging fists, crashing glassware, and the noise of combat.

When it was over, Carla had a black eye and a wicked grin on her face.

Firuun had mopped the floor with four gropos at once, and was not even breathing hard. "That was fun!" he boomed. "I can hardly wait to tell my fellows back on the ship how I participated in a human fighting ritual!"

The End


	3. Chapter 3

ISN Special Report: The Truth About Babylon 5

This story takes place immediately after the events in The Barfight.

The screen came to life in the bar. All the regulars gathered around to watch Firuun's moment of fame.

The blonde reporter stood in the Zocalo, with various humans and aliens walking by behind her.

"This is Claire Heilig reporting from Babylon 5. This special report is one of an ongoing series to re-examine the news broadcasts that came from the ISN studio during the period when it was under the control and censorship of the Clark regime. We've brought you The Truth About The Death of President Santiago, The Truth About Nightwatch, The Truth About Free Mars, The Truth About the Shadow War—" each time she listed one of the shows in the series, a hyperlink appeared at the bottom of the screen to take the viewer to a dowloadable copy—"and tonight we bring you The Truth About Babylon 5."

In the background, a group of gropos walked by. Between them they had two black eyes and one nose cast. A derisive cheer went up from the bar regulars as they recognized last night's entertainment.

"During the Clark administration, a propaganda team broadcast a report over ISN's logo claiming that Captain Sheridan was suffering from Minbari War Syndrome."

There was a brief clip of the infamous broadcast.

"We have not yet had a chance to interview John Sheridan, newly elected President of the Interstellar Alliance. We will come back to the man behind the myth in a future broadcast. By chance, while filming locations around the station last night, we encountered a new question. If the major symptom of Minbari War Syndrome is idolizing the other side in the war, can a Minbari have Minbari War Syndrome?"

The ISN broadcast cut to a floating-camera image of the inside of the bar. There was a young gropo on the floor, and Firuun was standing over him. Although he had no longer been furious at that point, he looked very intimidating in his armor, which was all black except for the row of bone twists across the chestplate.

Carla stood next to him in her TV-blue FPFP jacket. She came up to the middle of his bicep.

The Earth soldier climbed to his feet rubbing his jaw. "So what's Sheridan to you, Minbari?"

"The greatest war leader of the last three thousand years! Nobody insults him while I'm around!"

Behind him, Senshac in his gold religious robe sneered, "You still call him Starkiller, Firuun."

"I have a right to! I was ON the Blackstar when he destroyed it!"

The floating camera moved closer to Firuun as he said softly, "I could see it in his eyes. When I was looking up at him from the floor of the cargo lock of the Lexington. He was Tiluun reborn."

ISN cut to Zack Allen saying, "Well speak of the devil."

The camera panned to President Sheridan in the doorway, framed against the light of the Zocalo outside. "Mr. Allen, I need you."

"Sir," off camera. Pan back to Firuun: "I don't know if you remember me."

Pan back to Sheridan, smiling, "Oh, yeah! I know you. You're that guy I stood on."

"Yes! That was me."

Heilig came back on the screen, this time filmed against a plain grey wall. "That guy he stood on," Heilig enunciated. "There was a fad, during the Earth-Minbari war, for Earth Alliance forces to photograph themselves with a foot up on fallen enemies, like hunting trophies."

"Hey!" Firuun objected to the screen. "That's not what happened!"

The ISN broadcast faded between stills of various soldiers and crewmen with a foot on a prone Minbari, the humans' arms up in the strong-man, conquering-hero pose.

"Bad enough to do it to the dead. The public was utterly disgusted when they saw images of it being done to live captives. While that does not exactly rise to the level of a war crime, still, it's not something one would expect the prisoner to remember fondly."

The broadcast cut to Firuun gazing after Sheridan with clear hero-worship on his face. "He recognized me."

In the bar, the real Firuun shouted, "That's a vile, vile lie!"

Carla agreed, "Total bull! And ISN broadcast Sheridan's speech from your shoulders themselves, they should know all about it!"

The ISN broadcast cut to Firuun's interview. Firuun was seated in an overstuffed chair beside Heilig, who had a desk between them, in standard interview-show arrangement. The furniture was provided by the hotel where she had rented a suite for her interviews.

"How long were you a prisoner on the Lexington?"

"Just a few weeks, while the ship was towed to a spacedock, and about a week while it was in dock, until I was transferred downside." Firuun replied.

"And how often did you see Captain Sheridan?"

"I only met him the one time. But I'll remember it forever. I only wish I knew what he said. I didn't speak English at the time. I learned from the guards, actually."

"Oh? What's the first thing you learned to say in English?"

"It was 'nice ass', actually. The night guard had a sense of humor. He told me that was a greeting I should say to other prisoners. I guess they were using me to scare their drunk-and-disorderlies."

"That doesn't sound very nice," Heilig commented.

"When the day guard, Craigman, heard me say it, she took it on herself to teach me to speak English for real. And read. She brought me human books."

The broadcast cut away to a later part of the interview. Apparently Heilig did not think Craigman's taste in books was worth broadcasting.

"In the bar, you said you thought Sheridan was the greatest military leader of the last three thousand years. You meant, besides Valen, of course."

"Including Valen."

"You think a human is a greater leader than Valen?"

"Valen was a human."

"Excuse me, what?" Heilig looked a little flustered.

"His real name was Jeffrey Sinclair. He was the commander of this station before Sheridan. He took Babylon 4 back in time a thousand years, and transformed himself on the way, the way that Delenn transformed. A Minbari not born of Minbari. Everybody here knows that. Marcus said so."

"Who's Marcus?"

"A Ranger."

"A human Ranger."

"Yes."

"So, a human tells you that Valen was a human, and you believe him."

"Sure, why not?"

The broadcast cut again. "In the Shadow War, did you follow Sheridan into battle?"

"Yes. It was the proudest moment of my life. The chance to follow a leader like that, it only comes along once or twice in all of time."

"What happened?"

"He led us between the darkness and the light. We are all grey, now. Everyone who was with him in the crucible."

"You won, obviously."

"We all survived because of him. All the races of the galaxy. We all thought it was impossible, but he gave us hope. Doing the impossible is what he does. The Shadow War seemed impossible enough when the Vorlons were our allies. When it turned into a two front war at the end, Sheridan was our last hope. And he pulled it off. He kicked out the First Ones."

"Sheridan and Delenn."

"Well yes, of course. But we of the warrior caste have never had any doubt as to which is the political leader and which is the military mastermind."

"Did you follow him to Earth, too?"

"No, I was stuck here guarding the station. Of all the luck, to be on the war cruiser left behind! We were all going crazy back here, listening to reports from the front. When I heard about the final battle over Earth I thought someone was pulling an elaborate prank. He fought to an overwhelming military victory and then surrendered. I guess I know who he learned that from. Still, I wish I had been there. It would have been glorious!"

The broadcast cut to Heilig in front of the blank wall again. "There you have one part of the Truth About Babylon 5. A Minbari warrior who worships John Sheridan. Next time: who is Sheridan, really? The man behind the legend."

The bar regulars turned away from the screen.

"Not too shabby," Carla said. "Let me buy you another fizz."

"It was a hack job," Firuun said. "They implied that Sheridan mistreated prisoners of war. He would never do such a thing! Real honor shines forth in the aftermath of the battle. And I think they said I was insane."

"It's the news. What do you expect? They have to spice it up."

"That's one part of human culture I just don't understand."

Carla signaled the barkeep for another round.

The End


	4. Chapter 4

Shisep

4th in the Loribond series. Takes place after ISN Special Report: The Truth About Babylon 5. But also contains a flashback to a 'missing scene' from the time period between The Loribond and The Barfight.

\

"Meetings. Why did it have to be meetings?" Sheridan had not yet had a chance to turn the day to day running of the station over to someone else, even though as the new head of state of the IA he had plenty on his plate. Not to mention the logistics of decommissioning the great fleet with which he had—not conquered the Earth, Sheridan winced at his own internal word choice. Somehow the great fleet had to be simultaneously broken back up into the fleets of its member worlds and remade into a united Interstellar Alliance fleet. And then there was the Whitestar fleet.

If only Ivanova were here, he thought. But she was Captain Ivanova now, off on her new ship, flying up, up, very far away from all these meetings.

Sheridan's attention had drifted during Dr. Franklin's report. But he was riveted by the words 'dream state illusions'.

Franklin continued, "… started to spread off of Mars, and there have been reports of Dream being sold on the station in the last few days. The source of the problem actually seems to be a splinter group of Free Mars that turned to criminal enterprises after independence. No one knows why they suddenly came into a big stock of a new street drug, since Number One tells me no one was experimenting with creating new drugs before."

"Doctor, tell us again what Dream does exactly?"

"Well, they say it creates what they call 'dream state illusions', obviously a euphemism for a hallucinogen. The selling points are that one dose lasts about two weeks, and the hallucinations are mild enough for people to be able to get through their regular jobs while enjoying it. It's also said to be a way for lovers to bond closer together, though that's the sort of thing that's been said about any number of drugs. They also say people have been known to make instant best friends at parties, you know, the whole this-stuff-improves-your-social-life thing. Probably pure poppypock."

"What if it's not pure poppypock?"

"Why, what are you thinking?"

"Dream state illusions. What if that's not a euphemism for hallucinations but a translation of a technical term?"

"You obviously have some idea, Ca—uh," Franklin caught himself about to use the old title.

"Dream state illusions. Lasts two weeks. Bonds people together. Dream is loritril."

"No… Loritril as a street drug?"

"Nobody would take that stuff voluntarily if they knew what it was. But call it Dream and then it's dreamy."

"Where would a splinter group of Free Mars get a huge stock of loritril?"

"Same place I got some. I heard they raided the interrogation centers after the overthrow of Clark. Freed the prisoners. Like Bastille Day. They must have looted the drugs."

Franklin nodded. But everyone else at the meeting was starting at Sheridan.

Sheridan realized he had been thinking that his exposure to loritril was public knowledge since he talked about it at the Board of Inquiry. But apparently the news had not reached back here.

"See if you can get a sample and confirm that, Dr. Franklin. If you can, then maybe I'll let that annoying ISN reporter get that interview she wants. I'll put the word out about Dream."

"Right. Like you said, nobody will take it if they know what it is. Even the hardest of hardcore junkies don't give themselves interrogation drugs."

\

Only a few days passed before Franklin came to talk to Sheridan about Dream.

"You were right. I obtained a sample. Dream is loritril. By now the test was just a formality, though, I've already examined a few people from Downbelow who've taken Dream, and found shisep in their body cells."

"That's the chemical basis for the lifelong loribond, right?"

"Right. It's the breakdown product of loritril. Long after the loritril itself clears out of the bloodstream, shisep remains in the body cells."

\

ISN reporter Claire Heilig asked Sheridan, "Why were the records of the Board sealed?"

Sheridan remembered:

\

"Capt. Sheridan, do you wish to make a statement?"

"I accomplished everything I set out to accomplish. I'd like to say that what happens now doesn't matter, but to my surprise I find it does. It's one thing to die for a cause, it's another thing to die just because. I know what I did was morally right. Whether it was legal is up to you. I only ask, for Earth's sake, if you're going to have me taken out and shot, please wait until the Minbari fleet leaves. They consider me their war leader, and they're kind of touchy about that sort of thing."

"Is that a threat, Capt. Sheridan?"

"No. No, it's not. Please excuse me, your honors, I really can't help just saying whatever the hell pops into my head. So little time has past since my captivity on Mars that I still have interrogation drugs in my bloodstream."

The forewoman of the Board of Inquiry, Admiral Enoshe, a tall woman of African origin, glanced at Sheridan's lawyer, standing beside him, as if expecting him to say something. Then she asked, "Which ones, Capt.?"

"Uh…" Sheridan considered whether to try to keep what he was on a secret. But he decided it was neither necessary nor likely to work. It was the fact that he was loribonded that he had to keep quiet, not the fact that he had been given the drug. Besides which, Dr. Franklin and nearly the whole of the Free Mars resistance group already knew about it, and the Minbari fleet doctor who had insisted on examining him before the final battle for Earth had undoubtedly logged his test results into his records. So the matter of the interrogation chemistry was no secret.

Sheridan started counting on his fingers. "Tuhesen, Ethlec, Amsha, Druun, Amsha, no I said that already, Bermac, um, Loritril, and what the heck was that other word? I forget."

The members of the Board exchanged looks. The one General on the Board—the rest were Admirals—asked, "Would that be Datansho?"

"Yes, that's the one."

The General said, "That combination of six is what is known as 'the Minbari torture cocktail'."

"Yes. Ironic," Sheridan commented. "Clark's men weren't above using alien technology when it suited them."

Enoshe addressed Sheridan's lawyer. "Aren't you going to object to us questioning your client under drugs?"

"No, Ma'am."

Sheridan explained, "I've asked my lawyer not to delay these proceedings. If I wait for the drugs to clear out I'll be here another week before I get to find out whether you're going to let me live. I have a right to a speedy trial."

"Yes, you do," Admiral Enoshe agreed. "You also have a right to a fair trial."

"Admiral, Your Honors, my actions speak for themselves. I freed Earth from Clark's dictatorship and now I have submitted to the transitional government. Whatever Clark's interrogators did to me is irrelevant. I have not signed a confession and I'm not going to. I stand by my actions. Whether I went into the final battle still floating in loritril dream-state illusions and covered with sucker marks surely makes no difference now."

The General reacted with a sour expression to the words 'sucker marks', clearly following the implication of the sucker wire torture. Which was also a Minbari technique.

Sheridan mumbled something about ren and timab, then continued, "I am just as competent to stand before this board as I was to lead the fleet action over Earth. Which, by the way, in case you hadn't noticed, I won."

"The Board of Inquiry will deliberate now," Admiral Enoshe said. "Capt. Sheridan, the guard will escort you to a room where you will wait for our decision."

The General asked, "Capt. Sheridan, do you require medical treatment?"

"No, I don't, thank you, sir. I've already been treated by the galaxy's best expert in these matters." Sheridan pointed to the ceiling, and by implication the fleet in orbit above the planet. "Comac of Clan Itma has extensive experience with humans. Best not to ask what kind of experience."

\

Heilig broke in on Sheridan's reverie. "President Sheridan?" she prompted. "The Board sealed its records."

"I didn't know that," Sheridan responded. "Just thinking about why that might be. I suppose I might have said one or two things that could have been embarrassing, for either me or them, taken out of context. And at the time, they could not have known what decision would come out of my meeting with the provisional President of the Earth Alliance. They might have just been trying to quash a few thousand lawyers' ambitions by not making it public knowledge that there was such obvious grounds for appeal, if their decision was unfavorable."

"You have to understand, Miss Heilig. The reason I started out this interview by talking about our discovery that Dream is really loritril is because I have a personal interest in seeing that nobody else is exposed to it. When I was a prisoner of Clark's forces on Mars, I was given six drugs, one of which was loritril. Luckily, I was rescued before I bonded to anyone. But it was a close thing. A very narrow escape."

"That must have been a horrible experience." Heilig leaned forward with a glitter in her eye, sensing ratings gold.

"It was. I'm not going over the details. I haven't really talked to anyone about that, not even Delenn. Not yet. But my point is, taking Dream, which is really loritril, would be a terrible risk to run for some not so great visual images for a few days. Loribonding is for life. And they say it's impossible to break a loribond."

"They also say the impossible is your specialty."

"True. Luckily, though, I don't need to try."

"So, how does that relate to the Board of Inquiry?"

"Not very much time passed between my rescue, and the final battle, and my appearance before the tribunal. If the records of the Board were opened, they would clearly show that they knew that when I appeared before the Board, I was on Tuhesen, Ethlec, Amsha, Druun, Bermac, Loritril, and Datansho."

Heilig did not react to the names of the drugs the way veterans of the Earth-Minbari war would; she clearly did not recognize the significance of the words. "And that would be a basis for appeal?" she concluded.

"I can't think of a better one," Sheridan said. "If they had voted to have me taken out and shot, a million lawyers would have sprung up out of the bushes. Actually, the Board might very well have voted that way, I don't know. The President's decision superseded it. So maybe they just sealed the records to keep their verdict private. That would make sense too."

The End


	5. Chapter 5

The Drunken Minbari Incident

5th in the Loribond series

"Oh, they have brevari!" Londo's voice carried over the mixed group of humans and aliens celebrating in the garden. He had turned out for the occasion in his second-best jacket, the purple one. "Do have some, Vir! This celebration is for everyone."

Away from the center of the gathering, Sheridan and Delenn turned back to each other with a smile. "Somehow, when Londo says it, it almost seems to come out as an insult," Delenn said. "How does he do that?"

Sheridan was in a good mood tonight. Despite the new beard, the expression on his face was nearly a return of Captain Smiley, as a few of the crew had dubbed him during his first year on the station. "At least he showed up. Not many of the major diplomats are here tonight."

"Londo, miss a party?"

"You've got a point there," Sheridan smiled.

"And one where alcohol is served," Delenn continued. "Every species in the galaxy can enjoy the same drink, except Minbari. It hardly seems fair."

"I don't think I'd want that to be one of the Ten Things That We All Share," Sheridan said, nodding to a temporary show of sculptures by artists of different species, displayed in the garden as part of the ongoing celebrations of the beginning of the Interstellar Alliance. Technically, the Alliance barely existed yet, since Sheridan had not yet been inaugurated and not every former League world had signed the Alliance treaty.

"Most of the guests tonight seem to be human," Delenn commented.

"Well, it's a human holiday, after all." 

"Yes, strange. I don't know of any other species that celebrates a particular date simply by calling it by that date. Most holidays have a name."

"Well, the 4th of July did have an official name once, back when the United States of America was a sovereign country. Before the Earth Alliance. It was Independence Day. But most of the former nations of Earth had their own Independence Day. Babylon 5 has one now, for that matter. As does Mars, and Io. But we're not really celebrating one nation-state's independence from another. This holiday is about freedom. Political freedom. Religious freedom. Economic freedom. Freedom of thought. That's what the 4th of July means to humans."

"And freedom is celebrated by exploding gunpowder charges. How very strange your people are, John."

"Well, we can't really celebrate freedom without celebrating how people get freedom. Very few of the old nations of Earth ever got freedom without war."

"I see," Delenn's soft smile faded. Quietly, she said, "Nor have the new governments, of Io, and Proxima, and Mars. And Babylon 5."

"No." Sheridan was not smiling now either. He was remembering.

Just then the band struck up a jaunty tune, and the display began. Letting off fireworks inside the station would have driven Garibaldi to distraction, if he were still Chief of Security. Actually, it still did, but now all he could do was stand around and stew.

The display was created and set off by the Fire Crew, a group of four pyrotechnics artists and a dozen helpers operating behind a barricade at one end of the garden. They were an Earth Force army squad, as was the band. The band's equipment presented no problems. The Fire Crew's, however, was essentially demolitions equipment and mortars. Neither Garibaldi nor Mr. Allen had wanted to let the Fire Crew and their equipment aboard the station, so soon after the end of hostilities, but Sheridan had invited them himself.

There were suitable precautions in place, of course. The monorail that normally ran through the low gravity area overhead had been shut down until the display was over. Fire Crew helpers were stationed throughout the area with firefighting gear, in case of stray sparks. Station security was sprinkled liberally throughout the crowd, and the Fire Crew's barricade had a line of Narn warriors in front of it, keeping the public from getting too close to the explosives.

Even with the band playing, the assembly clearly heard the distinctive whump of the rockets firing in the mortar tubes. The humans, associating the sound with the fireworks, looked up into the low gravity area before the first fireworks exploded.

A burst of green fire lit up the gardens. The humans vented appreciative ooo sounds. A few of the aliens shrieked in surprise. The Babcom bulletin announcing this holiday had warned them what to expect, but the spectacle was still louder and brighter than some of them had anticipated.

The display continued with sputtering glittery white bursts, round purple explosions, red and green directional ones, golden streamers, silver sprays, and green trailers like stems topped with pink chrysanthemums. The band played a medley of traditional and contemporary human songs. The grand finale was in the traditional colors of red, white, and blue.

When the display was over, the crowd applauded, then started to move toward the refreshment stands.

"That was quite beautiful," Delenn said, surprised.

"I'm glad you liked it. Just once, before we go to Minbar, I wanted you to see a real 4th of July celebration. It's one of my fondest memories of home."

"Is this move going to be difficult for you, John?"

"Maybe. But the IA needs a seat of government, and Babylon 5 is a free port, not really suited to it. There would be room if we converted the emptier parts of Grey and Brown sectors. But it would take just as much building effort as the facilities on Minbar will, and would be, well, just not as good. Trying to refurbish what's essentially a waste recycling area into offices and public parks is never going to get as good a result as building from the ground up."

"The fact that there is anyplace on Minbar with a large enough area where we can build from the ground up is still a source of shame to my people. To think that we destroyed our own cities in that terrible civil war between the castes."

"Mm." Sheridan did not want to talk about civil wars, not today. Today was supposed to be happy.

Just then G'Kar came by. "A most impressive work of fire art, Mr. President. And a most inspiring holiday. I was thinking that we Narns should have a holiday for freedom as well." G'Kar's one natural eye gleamed with excitement. "Would you humans mind if we borrowed yours? This is precisely the kind of holiday we need."

Sheridan grinned. "Narns celebrating the 4th of July? Why not? I don't think any of my people would mind at all. In fact, we'd be proud."

Londo pressed through the crowd. "President Sheridan, is this really made out of dog?"

G'Kar said, "Hello, Londo. I'm surprised to see you here. I thought the Centauri would celebrate Oppression Day instead."

Not to be outdone, Londo put on a false smile and replied, "Hello G'Kar, nice to see you too. It's wonderful how we can all celebrate together in a spirit of brotherhood, yes?"

G'Kar rolled his eyes, both the red one and the blue one.

Delenn spotted the Minbari that had arrived today. She had asked them to meet her here so that she could conduct business and be part of the festival at the same time. "Excuse me. I must speak to my people for a moment."

Sheridan, noticing the hard set to her face, knew something was up. "I love that smell," he commented.

"Roasted hot dog?" Londo asked.

"Gunpowder. Excuse me, gentlemen." Sheridan followed Delenn.

Delenn wove through the crowd and came into the group of gold-robed members of her own clan. "What is the latest rumor?" she asked.

"It's gone beyond rumor now," said one of the males of Clan Mir. "I think they might actually do it, Delenn. Clan Limuu has been supporting the legal right of all the minor clans who have challenged each other in the old rituals, even in disputes between worker caste clans that have nothing to do with Limuu."

"This has nothing to do with Limuu either, as far as I can see. They're on the other side of the planet from Clan Mir. What could they possibly want?"

"I think you're right," the male said. "This is not really a clan matter, although they've had to cloak it in clan terms to satisfy the legal forms. This is really a political move against the Interstellar Alliance, Delenn."

"That is what I was afraid of."

"Which means that if they do challenge you, you must answer the challenge. You must send a Former Enemy to the Ritual. Clan Mir can easily afford the concessions they are demanding. But you cannot afford to look weak in the eyes of the Minbari people right now."

"I cannot ask anyone to go through that. What has possessed our people to revive the Ritual of Endurance?"

"Delenn, you yourself have brought back the traditions of the time before Valen. You broke the Grey Council, and to end the caste war you entered the Starfire Wheel. Which is fatal, as the Ritual of Endurance is not. That is the basis for their claim that the Ritual should be legal, in fact."

"How many such Rituals have been conducted on Minbar since it was revived?"

"Hundreds, Delenn. Hundreds. The caste war left many in need of rituals to settle disputes. And many former enemies from which to choose."

Another of the golden robed Minbari, a female, commented, "The Ritual of Endurance has swept across Minbar like wildfire. Admiring crowds turn out to cheer the winners, mostly people who do not even know anyone in the clans involved. It's become a sporting event. Some of the winners have gone on to make a career of it, turning themselves into what the humans call celebrities. It is a terrible contamination from human culture."

"Surely you don't mean that people compete more than once, on behalf of different people."

"Yes," the male said. "The caste war left all the clans with a complicated web of broken alliances and former enemies. Nearly anyone can claim to be a former enemy of at least three or four different clans."

"The judges of the Ritual are trying to put a stop to that," the female said. "They have ruled that simply being on opposite sides of the war is not enough, the Former Enemy relationship must be personal in some way. Involving personal grievances. That has not ended the practice, however, since whichever member of a clan made the decision to bring their clan in on one side of a dispute or the other simply becomes the grievance target."

The man continued, "If they challenge you, Delenn, that will not work for you. You are not the one who involved our clan in the fighting. The clan head is. So you must choose a Former Enemy another way. Now, I have an idea. It's a bit radical, but I've run it by the Judges of the Ritual and they have agreed. If you are challenged, your role as a member of the Grey Council at the time of the start of the Earth-Minbari war qualifies any human who fought in it as a Former Enemy. There must be some among the Rangers who were once Earth soldiers."

"No," said Delenn. "I will not ask the Rangers to defend me in a clan dispute. That would be an abuse of my power."

"You are En Til Za," said the female. "Any Ranger would die for you. If you cannot come up with even one who is willing to Endure for you, it will open you to a challenge of your position as leader of the Rangers. Members of the military caste will come to contend against you for it."

"If I am challenged, I will deal with it in my own way," said Delenn. "Thank you for keeping me informed."

She turned and left the group of Minbari, not noticing Sheridan had followed her and heard everything.

He approached the Clan Mir representatives. "I heard. Tell me something. You said that Clan Limuu is planning to challenge Delenn as a move against the Interstellar Alliance. Delenn's clan business is her business, but the Interstellar Alliance is mine. Just what exactly could Limuu do against us?"

"They could prevent the construction of the new seat of the IA on Minbar," the male said. "In supporting worker caste clans in the legalization of the old rituals, Limuu has made a vast network of worker caste alliances. It would look very bad if Minbar did not want the Interstellar Alliance, and you had to go find a different place for your capitol."

"Yes. That would be bad," Sheridan agreed. "It could shatter the Alliance. The Minbari are a large part of our core constituency."

"Then you will talk to Delenn? Convince her to send a Former Enemy to the Ritual if she is challenged?"

"Tell me more about this Ritual."

"It is a contest of endurance," said the male. "Of pain. In the days before Valen it was frankly a showcase of the torturer's art, but the modern revival leans more to the mild. The winners of minor contests often endure no worse than a beating. The celebrity winners pride themselves on taking more. The contest is won when one contestant concedes. The rules forbid mortal wounds or crippling, but other than that the contest is very open ended. And dangerous. I would not urge Delenn to send a Ranger to the contest except that so very much is at stake."

"Yes," Sheridan agreed. "The future of the Interstellar Alliance. The Ritual of Endurance sounds a little—barbaric."

"It is," agreed the female. "It is of the time before Valen."

"Would you supply me with a copy of the rules and traditions of this contest?"

"Of course," said male. "Thank you. I fear Delenn may try to deal with the challenge by ignoring it. The rules say it is acceptable not to send a Former Enemy to the Ritual if one does not know it is taking place. But that came down from the old days, when all communication traveled by foot or animal cart. No one would believe it today. Even if the judges of the contest ruled that the worker caste cannot strike over it, and the building of the capitol went forward, such a show of weakness would still lead to an attempt to oust Delenn as En Til Za."

"I won't let that happen," promised Sheridan.

\

When Delenn left the gold knot of Clan Mir, she mixed in with the mostly human crowd. The band started playing again, dance songs this time. A few of the less inhibited human females and their young began to dance.

Delenn found herself at a refreshment table. It was covered with glasses and various bottles of varying fullness.

The servitor asked her, "Ma'am, are you human or Minbari?"

Delenn considered the question for a long moment. "A little of both, I suppose. Perhaps it is time for me to find out just how human I have become."

The waiter handed her a fluted glass filled with a pale gold liquid.

Delenn thanked him and sipped at the bubbly concoction. It was a tolerable flavor.

Delenn drank about half of it before she started to feel strange. She set the glass down on a flat part of one of the artworks, realized that was not a table and picked it back up. She found herself having an argument with an alien whose species she had never seen before, with many narrow brown arms tipped with green hands, and no face to speak of.

Sheridan saw Delenn having a shouting match with a tree. She had a champagne flute in her hand. "Oh, hell."

He tried to steer her out of the gardens and ended up in a physical struggle. He had to pick her up to hustle her out into the corridor.

Only a few human stationers had noticed Delenn tilting at the tree, but Lennier noticed Sheridan carry her out by force. Lennier started pushing his way through the crowd.

The hallway was empty.

Sheridan set Delenn down and tried to take the half full champagne glass away. "Give me that."

Delenn smashed it into his face. The glass broke. His beard protected him a little, but he was still cut in several places. "I'll give you that!" she shouted.

She pulled her hand back for another blow, and Sheridan caught her by the wrists.

Delenn closed her fists, her right hand closing around the broken glass.

"Open your hand," Sheridan commanded. "Open your hand, dammit! You're going to hurt yourself."

That was when Lennier reached the corridor. He skidded to a stop in shock at what he saw.

Delenn struggled in Sheridan's grasp and shouted, "Let go of me!"

"Give it to me!" Sheridan growled. "Open, dammit!"

Lennier shouted, "Starkiller! Let her go!"

Sheridan let go of Delenn's wrists and she cut him in the face again with the broken glass.

She picked up the phrase and repeated it. "Starkiller! Starkiller! Starkiller!" Delenn punctuated each shrill word with another dozen cuts from the broken champagne flute.

Sheridan tried to grab her wrists again and found he could not close his hands. Not with the loribond command still active.

"Oh, hell, now you've really set her off!" Sheridan shouted.

Lennier watched in confusion. "Delenn?"

Still shouting, "Starkiller!" over and over, Delenn brought up her left fist and pummeled Sheridan, alternating with crunchy glass slaps from the right.

"Lennier, give me the—please give me the counterphrase! Before she puts an eye out with that thing!"

Delenn went on smashing and punching.

"The counterphrase! Please!" Sheridan shouted. "Can't you see she's drunk?"

"Drunk? Minbari don't drink alcohol, we become violent and…"

"Violent and psychotic, I know!" Sheridan yelled.

"Loridano."

Sheridan grabbed Delenn's arms again. She screeched something in Minbari.

"Help me get the champagne glass out of her hand."

Lennier joined the struggle and got Delenn's hand open, and the glass fell from it to the deck.

"Delenn, you've hurt your hand," Lennier said.

"Go get Dr. Franklin," Sheridan ordered. Now that he was no longer phrased, he reasserted his usual commanding style. "Have him come to Delenn's quarters. I'll get her home."

"Yes. And, Sheridan: I'm sorry. All I saw was you and Delenn fighting."

"I know. It's all right. Go."

\

The next day, Sheridan appeared in C-and-C looking like he had been dragged through barbed wire. He half expected Ivanova to be there, to ask him tartly, "What happened to you? Sir."

"What happened to you?" The voice was Garibaldi's.

Sheridan turned. Michael Garibaldi was waiting for him by the door to his office.

"I tangled with a drunken Minbari," Sheridan replied.

"A big, hulking one?" Garibaldi asked.

"A small, delicate one. And when I find the genius who gave Delenn real champagne, I'll skin him alive."

"Delenn did all that to you?" Garibaldi asked. "You're slipping, John."

"Don't ask. I presume you came to see me for a reason?" Sheridan gestured an invitation into the office, and sighed. Meetings. Why did it have to be meetings?

\

Delenn woke up late in the evening, still in her dress from the celebration the day before. She was alone in the bed.

Noticing a light behind the frosted door, she got up and went out into the living room. Sheridan was reading a printout, probably a report of some kind.

"John?"

"Delenn. You're up."

"What happened?" she asked softly.

"Which part?" Sheridan asked awkwardly. Delenn had seen Lennier issue a loribond command. That could easily be explained away; under the circumstances, calling him Starkiller could have been a simple insult. And Sheridan might have let Delenn hit him for his own reasons. But Lennier had also issued the counterphrase. And no Minbari could mistake what 'loridano' meant.

"Between when I was in the gardens and when I woke up here."

"You mean you don't remember a thing?"

"Why do you sound so relieved?" That was delivered in her hard voice.

"Well…" Sheridan trailed off, trying to think of a good excuse for sounding relieved. "The whole thing was just a little embarrassing."

Delenn came and sat down in the next chair. Her voice was warm and soft again. "What happened to your face?"

"I've already made a note to use unbreakable plastic glassware at public functions from now on."

"You don't mean that I…"

"I'll be fine, Delenn. They're shallow scratches. Dr. Franklin already looked them over when he came to treat your hand. I didn't even need any stitches."

Reflexively, Delenn looked at her hands. The palm and fingers of her right hand were covered with medical goo, beneath which were several shallow cuts. "I'm so sorry, John."

"Just stay away from the alcohol from now on. You're still a Minbari, Delenn."

"I suppose I am. Mostly." She leaned over. "What are you working on?" She picked up one of the papers. "The Ritual of Endurance? Did my clansmen speak to you?"

"I spoke to them. Are you going to send someone?"

"No. I will ignore the challenge when it comes."

"Even if it means we might end up losing our capitol on Minbar?"

"Even so, yes. I cannot use the Rangers for personal gain. That would be corruption, John."

"Using the Rangers to protect the interests of the Interstellar Alliance is what a lot of them signed on for."

"That is only obvious to you and me and a few people in the corridors of powers. To the common people of Minbar this is a clan dispute, nothing more. If I must choose between appearing as a weak and soft leader who values individual life too much, and appearing like a power hungry, corrupt tyrant in the mold of the late President Clark, I choose the former."

"Well, when you put it that way. I wouldn't want to go to bed with Clark tonight. There are limits to the ways in which I'm willing to sleep with the enemy." Sheridan smiled in conciliation. If there was something dark in his eyes, Delenn supposed it was memories of the past, not plans for the future.

Delenn smiled too. "I'm glad to hear that, since you've chosen to invite that Captain Lochley to be the next commander of Babylon 5. I understand she is a female."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"John…" Delenn teased.

Sheridan picked the papers back up, and Delenn took them out of his hands and set them aside. "Don't you think it's time to go to bed?" she asked. She took hold of the front of Sheridan's shirt with her good left hand and pulled, and he grinned and stood up, following eagerly.

The End


	6. Chapter 6

Just Another Weird Minbari Ritual

6th story in the Loribond series.

Vir and Lennier sat at the bar. "I wonder what I'm going to do when Londo is emperor," Vir said. "Stay here and become the new Ambassador? Go with him to the royal court?"

"Do you want to be Ambassador?" Lennier asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. I kind of like it here." Vir stammered, "The, the station is so filled with, I don't know, such a lot of different kinds of people. The royal court only has one kind of people in it."

"Centauri," said Lennier.

"That too. I meant, people who like power. Having it, or being around it. Flatterers. Social climbers. Backstabbers." Vir paled and whispered, "Frontstabbers."

"I see. No men of action? No victorious generals?"

"Action is overrated. It's not, not like it is in the vid dramas, you know? It's not exciting, or fun, or, or anything."

"Perhaps not for you. I would like to be a man of action."

"Then why don't you?"

"Why don't I what?"

"Go be one. If you know what you want, do it. I wish I knew what I wanted. Sometimes I wish I didn't know the future."

"What I want, I can never have."

The silence stretched out for a long moment. Lennier looked into the mirror behind the bar and saw a figure coming toward him. "Same time next week," Lennier said quickly, and started away. The man changed direction to intercept him.

"Lennier," Sheridan called. "I need to speak with you."

"I am on my way to pick up several important documents from the Brakiri," Lennier said. It was not a lie; he did have to pick them up sometime today.

"It's important. And private."

"Mr. President…"

"It won't take long. We can talk on the elevator."

"I have to stop on the way and…"

"Look, Lennier, I know you're avoiding me, and most of the time I'm grateful. But Delenn needs your help."

"She has only to ask."

"She won't ask. So I'm asking for her."

Lennier nodded. He followed Sheridan to the elevator. They let one lift car go by, as it had several people in it already.

When they got into an empty elevator, Sheridan started talking rapidly as soon as the doors closed. "Delenn's clanfolk tell me a courier from Clan Limuu is on his way to the station with a challenge robe and sashes for the Ritual of Endurance."

Lennier's eyes opened wide. This was not the topic he had been expecting.

"Delenn won't ask anyone to go. She's planning to ignore the challenge. Do you agree with me that it would damage her position if no one showed up to represent her?"

"Yes," Lennier said slowly.

"Good. When the courier gets here, Security will alert me to his arrival and I'll get Delenn aboard Whitestar 1. The ship will leave immediately and maintain strict radio silence. Delenn believes this precaution is so that she can say she did not hear about the challenge. You will meet the courier and accept on her behalf. You will be the Handler."

"Someone from her own clan would be more appropriate for the Handler's role."

"No one else can do what needs to be done. You and I have an edge the competition can't match. All I need from you is three words. The second and third are 'don't concede.' And one more word, after I win."

"You," Lennier gasped. "You are planning to take the Former Enemy robe?"

"Who better? I understand that the higher the rank of the Former Enemy, the more prestigious it is for the one challenged."

"President Sheridan, I do not think you understand what this ritual involves."

"I know precisely. I've been going over the rules. Which was not difficult, since there are so very few of them."

"I—" Lennier started to protest. At that moment the elevator door opened.

"For Delenn," Sheridan said.

"For Delenn," Lennier agreed. He stepped off the elevator.

A large group of people got on. Sheridan found himself backed against the wall, face to chestplate with Minbari warrior caste armor. A resonating voice from above said, "Starkiller."

Sheridan looked up and was relieved at who he saw. "Firuun!" he exclaimed, a smile spreading over his face. "You know you s—" He started to say, you scare a year off my life every time you do that. But then a perfect addition to his plan presented itself in his mind.

The Minbari always did things in threes. When the courier arrived, he would have a black sash for the Handler, a grey robe for the Former Enemy, and a white sash for the Alternate. The Alternate could be either another Former Enemy of the one challenged, or a Former Enemy of the Former Enemy—as long as he was not from the same clan as the one challenged. The Alternate's job was to claim the right of substitution if something happened to the Former Enemy. If the Former Enemy could not reach the contest grounds, or if he became incapacitated during the Ritual. The Former Enemy was not allowed to simply tap out and let the Alternate take his place, however. The Alternate was just like the second in a duel in old Earth culture. Most of the time all he did was carry the equipment. But when he was needed, he was really needed.

"How would you like to take a break from the monotony of picket duty for a few days?" Sheridan asked.

"Sure! I'd love to!"

"I'll clear it with your captain, if you agree once you've heard the details. I'll send for you tomorrow."

"Count me in!"

"You might want to hear what it is first," Sheridan said.

"I'd follow you to storm the icy gates of the land of the dead!"

"That's what I thought, or I wouldn't be asking. We'll talk about it later."

"Did you see the ISN broadcast?"

"The one with you in it, you mean? Yes, a very flattering portrait, I thought."

"They used me to make you look bad."

"Not really. I think that probably played very well back home."

"They said I was insane."

"Join the club."

"There's a club?"

"It's just an expression, Firuun."

The elevator doors opened and the crowd thinned out. Firuun shouted, "Good-bye, Starkiller!" and exited grinning, and bouncing on his heels, which almost made him bang his head on the elevator threshold.

Sheridan shook his head as the doors closed, leaving him alone except for one smallish human. As soon as the Ritual was over he was going to have to do something about that nickname. But for now, it was good camouflage. If Firuun called him Starkiller, it would not seem so odd when Lennier said it.

"Do all your closest Minbari friends call you Starkiller?" It was Claire Heilig.

"Sometimes," Sheridan said. "You're not recording right now, are you?"

"I don't even have my rig. I'm heading out to eat. But my sources tell me that Delenn and Lennier were both heard calling you Starkiller at the 4th of July celebration."

"Delenn only calls me Starkiller when she's pissed."

The doors opened and Sheridan escaped from the reporter.

Claire reached into her pocket and turned off the voice recorder. She did not have her rig with her, nor her cameraman, but she never went anywhere without a voice recorder. This was going to be great stuff for her Man Behind the Myth profile.

\

The challenge courier had never left the spaceport. Apparently Clan Limuu's spies had found Clan's Mir's spies and either postponed or called off the challenge. If it was postponed, it was just until it could be a surprise.

Sheridan had started to think the challenge was never going to come. It had been a long time since he made all the arrangements with his coconspirators. Lennier had already left the station to begin Ranger training, but he had promised to return for the challenge, if it ever came. His mentor in the Anla'shok knew of his prior commitment to be a Handler in the Ritual of Endurance, though not for whom.

Then one morning Sheridan got a message from a representative of Clan Mir. "The package has left Minbar. I have already alerted the Ranger."

Sheridan immediately called the Anla'shok training center and confirmed that Lennier was on his way already. A few minutes later Lennier contacted him from his ship. "I just heard. I'm on my way."

"I don't know how they did it, but Clan Limuu picked the worst possible time for this. Their spies must be very good."

"No better than Clan Mir's," Lennier said. "We have plenty of advance warning for me to return to Babylon 5. What excuse shall I use when I get there? Is there anything of note happening on the station?"

"I don't suppose they'd give you leave from training to see the Rebo and Zooti show?"

"No, I don't think so."

"How about participating in the Brakiri Day of the Dead? It's a religious holiday that only happens once every 200 years."

"That will do nicely, thank you." Lennier started to reach for the cutoff, then paused. "President Sheridan. If I may ask, why is this an especially bad time? If comedy and ceremonies are the only things happening right now?"

"Ah, it's a personal concern, Lennier."

"I see. You and Delenn have reached the canvameta. The storm-time."

"The what?"

"I believe the human expression is 'the honeymoon is over.'"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. Do Minbari have a ritual for that, too?"

"We do. But perhaps I am not the best person to advise you in this."

"Probably not. When I came up with this plan, before you left to join the Rangers, I didn't realize… well, how you, um…"

"Your plan is as logical as a mathematical proof. I am the only one who can do this, therefore I will. I am Anla'shok now. We live for the One, we die for the One. I can do this for the One."

\

Sheridan got on the Babcom to Whitestar 1 as soon as he got off the link with Mr. Allen. "It's time. Go."

"But Lennier's not aboard yet."

"There's no time, Delenn. Go on. Don't worry, Lennier and I aren't going to kill each other while you're gone. Radio silence from mark: Mark." Sheridan cut the comm.

The Whitestar flew away from the station and opened a jump point.

Lennier met the courier at Delenn's quarters and accepted the challenge robe and sashes for delivery to their recipients. He hid them in a nondescript bag and went to Whitestar 7.

He and Sheridan took off and docked with Firuun's ship, the big, old-style Minbari war cruiser that looked like a goldfish and fought like an elephant.

The captain readily agreed to the transfer of equipment and personnel, though he looked askance at the equipment Sheridan requested. The Minbari captain turned out all his officers to greet the Interstellar Alliance President as he came aboard.

Despite military protocol, the officers gasped when they saw him. Sheridan was wearing the grey Former Enemy robe. As the representative of the one challenged, his robe was worked with pale lavender-grey circles down the front; the robe of the challenger would be embellished with dark red circles. Lennier walked beside Sheridan, wearing the black Handler's sash across one shoulder and down to the opposite side of the chest. His sash too had the pale circles of the challenged one. Sheridan carried the white Alternate sash, with its matching pale circles, across both his hands.

He walked solemnly across the deckplates. He nodded to the captain in greeting, walked past the senior officers and came to stand in front of the engineering team. "Firuun of Clan Imbalo. Clan Limuu has challenged Delenn of Clan Mir. I go as her Former Enemy. Will you be my Alternate in the Ritual of Endurance?"

Firuun's normally loud voice came out an awed whisper. "It is my honor." Firuun took the white sash and put it on over his black uniform.

"Then come," Sheridan said. He turned around and went back aboard the Whitestar, and Lennier and Firuun went with him, leaving a crowd of utterly pole-axed Minbari in their wake.

As the airlock closed, they heard the excited buzz of voices start up behind them. Someone said something about a betting pool, and the captain said, "So that's what he wanted that equipment for."

\

On the Whitestar, Firuun asked, "What equipment did we transfer aboard?"

"Equipment that was standard issue on a Minbari war cruiser, but which Delenn decided did not belong on a Whitestar. Come on down to the cargo bay, we need to inspect it, anyway. Or, you do, Firuun. You're an engineer, you can make sure it's all in good working order and safe to use. And Lennier, you need to become familiar with the equipment. It's the Handler's job to use it."

The three of them went to the cargo bay. A large matte-grey box rested on an antigrav pallet.

"That's a—" Firuun opened the box and swung out the panels. The central area contained a board which could be folded out at various angles, much like a Minbari sleeping platform. The left panel was all drawers and cabinets, and the right panel was recording and computer equipment.

"What we want is in the left hand side," Sheridan said. "Still, I think we should bring the whole field station with us, it will intimidate our opponents."

"It really is," Firuun said, his eyes wide in sudden fear. "It's a portable field interrogation station."

Lennier said, "I can't use this equipment."

"You did an adequate job of it before."

Firuun glanced between the two of them, wondering what they were talking about.

"You did that to yourself, Mr. President."

An amused smile flickered over Sheridan's face. "Lennier, at some point in this Ritual you're going to have to call me what Firuun calls me. Alternating that with Mr. President is going to seem a little odd. Why don't you just call me Sheridan?"

"Alright. Sheridan. I'm really not comfortable with this."

"You think I am? You have no idea how much of a personal nightmare this is going to be for me. After Mars."

Sheridan opened the interrogation chemistry drawer and added two ampoules to it. "Dream. Might as well collect the whole set. I know that stuff is no longer standard issue. I understand it's now illegal on Minbar." He shook his head as he closed the drawer. "If someone had told me ten years ago that someday I would willingly travel to Minbar to be tortured, I would've said they were crazy."

"Then they could join our club," Firuun commented.

Sheridan smiled briefly. "Yeah, a sense of humor can carry us a little farther, I think. But don't worry, Lennier. I thought of that too. I know you're of the religious caste and probably not that familiar with this kind of stuff. So we're rendezvousing with another war cruiser in a little while, to bring on a coach for you. Comac."

"Comac the Torturer?" Lennier asked. "Didn't you humans try to get him extradited for war crimes after the Earth-Minbari war?"

"That's the guy, yeah. I met him once; he was with the fleet when I took back Earth."

"Doesn't the Earth Alliance still consider him a war criminal?"

"I'm not in the Earth Alliance. Besides, a lot of Minbari still consider me a war criminal for using space mines. That's what every other Minbari except you two mean when they say Starkiller."

"Us two and Delenn?" Lennier asked, remembering the Drunken Minbari Incident. Months had passed since then, and there was no longer any trace of the scratches on his face.

"No. When Delenn says it, it's meant to hurt me. And it does."

"There's one thing I don't understand," Lennier said. "This Ritual can be intense, yes, but you've faced the real thing. You held out for a week on Mars. Why do you need me?"

"Because of that, not despite it," Sheridan said. "Most of what they did was psychological. Psychological torture is still torture. And in many ways harder to bear. I'm not really sure I can face this without your help. Not again. Not so soon."

Looking down, Lennier whispered, "I see."

\

The representatives of Clan Mir and Clan Limuu stood on opposite ends of the large room. They were both religious caste, so most of them wore gold robes. A few of them wore fashion garments. The judges of the Ritual stood in the center, in between two large circles worked in powder on the floor. There was a camera in the ceiling, but it only went to a repeater display for the crowds outside. Minbari rituals were not meant to be recorded.

The room had many windows and was full of light. Sinuous carvings twined down stone pillars. One great window looked out onto the parade way, a paved path lined with Minbari sportsfans of all castes. When a Whitestar touched down in the landing circle, the crowd cheered and waved.

The ramp descended and three figures emerged. In the black sash, a short male Minbari with effeminate horns, obviously a refined and well-bred member of the religious caste. In the white sash, a towering warrior in the black armor of an officer of the Minbari fleet. And between them in the grey robe, a bearded human.

Behind them walked a gold-robed porter from the Whitestar, towing a portable field interrogation station, and Comac the Torturer.

The crowd reacted with mixed bursts of cheering, hush, and the excited buzz of discussion as they recognized the celebrities.

Inside the temple, the man of Clan Mir who had spoken to Sheridan about sending a human Ranger looked outside and did a double take. He stammered through the legal explanation he had prepared for the judges, thinking that a Ranger was coming.

One of the men of Clan Limuu moved closer to the front window for a better look. "It's a human alright. But that's no Ranger. I can't believe it!"

"What, what?" asked the people of Limuu arranged along the back wall.

"It's Sheridan. Delenn sent Sheridan!"

Sheridan's entourage paraded to the temple and entered.

The judge formally challenged the party. "Who are you, that you claim the status of Former Enemy of Delenn of Clan Mir?"

"I am John Sheridan, formerly a Captain of Earth Force. I fought against her in the Earth-Minbari war."

The spokesman of Clan Limuu said, "Delenn was not military caste. She did not fight in the war. The Former Enemy relationship does not apply."

Unexpectedly, Lennier spoke up. "I will tell you a thing that very few know, as the deliberations of the Grey Council were secret. All know that Delenn stood at Dukhat's right hand at the moment of his death. All know that Delenn was the chosen of Dukhat to replace him on the Council, and that she took his place thereafter. Few know that the Council was evenly divided on whether to seek revenge for Dukhat or try to speak to the humans, to salvage the first contact situation. Delenn's was the deciding vote. It was Delenn's order that launched the counterstrike against the humans. It was Delenn's order that started the Earth-Minbari War."

Everyone in the room stared at Lennier in shock. Including Sheridan.

The judges discussed this revelation and ruled, "You are the Former Enemy of Delenn." Then the judge turned to Firuun, "And who are you to Delenn that you claim the status of Alternate?"

"No one. I am here for Starkiller."

A Minbari trying to raise an eyebrow looked slightly comical. "Then who are you, that you claim the status of Former Enemy of John Sheridan?"

"Firuun of Clan Imbalo. I am the sole survivor of the destruction of the Blackstar."

The chief judge went slack-jawed for moment. He announced the acceptance of the claim without even discussing it with the other judges.

"John Sheridan, meet your competitor."

A thickly muscled military caste Minbari came forward in the grey robe with the red circles. A sudden increase in the crowd noise from outside identified him as one of the sport's leading lights, a pro Former Enemy.

"This is Recnar of Clan Onn." The crowd outside went wild. "The contest begins."

Recnar's Handler removed Recnar's robe, leaving him in red trunks. He moved into his assigned circle. The Handler, an assistant, and the Alternate went into the circle with him and the Handler began laying out an array of clear and opaque plastic sticks and straps, a collection of tools for beatings that was meant to look intimidating all arranged on a table. At the end of the array, like a capstone, the Handler set out a punk and lighter, for burning the skin, and some device with lots of buttons.

Whatever the Challenger had used on him, the Challenged had to have used on him, too. Then the Challenged would use something from his collection, which the Challenger would have to take. And so forth, like a demented banjo duel.

Lennier removed Sheridan's robe, and Sheridan stood out in the pale trunks. Sheridan moved into his circle. His entourage came with him: Lennier, Firuun, the porter, and Comac the Torturer. Comac opened the large box and swung out the panels.

Both inside and outside the temple, the spectators gasped.

Recnar exclaimed, "They can't do that! That's, that's—"

"Real torture equipment," Sheridan said. "If you can't stand the heat, Recnar, get out of the kitchen."

Recnar snarled and flexed his muscles. "I can take anything you can take, human."

"Prove it," Sheridan dared.

"I've done this before, Sheridan. This is my fourth competition. I'm the champion."

"I've been—" Sheridan tried to say, I've tortured before too. For seven days and nights, on Mars.

But his mind shied from the memory, and he stumbled over the words. More quietly than he had intended, he said, "You've never faced the real thing, Recnar. I have."

Recnar's Handler said, "Let's get started. Recnar, over here." Recnar took up a standing position in the center of his circle. His handler selected a long lexan slapper and counted out ten swings to Recnar's back. It left red marks, but did not break the skin.

"Is that all you've got?" Sheridan scoffed.

One of the judges carried the slapper to Lennier. Lennier took it and said, "Starkiller, don't concede."

A strange blank look passed over Sheridan's face.

Lennier counted out the ten, leaving welts on Sheridan's back. Then he handed the lexan strap back to the judge and opened a drawer in the field station. He removed a set of sucker wire.

"Put these on," Lennier said. Without hesitation, Sheridan began arranging the suction cups over his own body. When he had them all applied, Lennier pulled out the work platform from the central wall of the field station, and adjusted it to a flat position. That would not bother a human, but lying in that position would discomfort his opponent. The idea was to try to do things one's opponent would not want to copy.

Sheridan lay on the metal table. Lennier showed the control box settings to the contest judge, so that Recnar would receive the same level of pain. Then he put it on random program, so that even he would not know which wire would fire when. It began. As before, Sheridan did not scream. He ground his teeth together and growled.

Comac held the timer up for Lennier, the judges, and all the spectators to see. After an exact Minbari time interval, Lennier shut down the box. Sheridan pulled off the cups, leaving the distinctive round red sucker marks, and Lennier gathered the equipment back into a neat bundle and handed it off to the judge.

There was a brief pause as a flat table for located for Recnar's use. Then he placed the suckers on himself, making snarly faces at Sheridan, and adding a few lines of bravado in Minbari, directed at the ceiling camera and his adoring fans outside. Recnar's Handler assisted him to lie down flat on the table, then set the timer and started the electric shocks.

Recnar cried out and writhed. When it started, he yelled at every zap, then issued one long moan through many shocks, and then he screamed. Over and over, horrible piercing screams.

Comac commented, "It's only at half intensity. Nobody screams that much. He's doing it for show."

Sheridan said, "Like a gladiator doing show-off moves in the arena, performing for the crowd."

"Exactly."

When it was over, Recnar took a minute to lie on the table and catch his breath. Then he stood up and raised his arms in triumph. "I am the greatest!" He thumped his chest like an Earth gorilla. "I am Recnar the invincible!"

Recnar's Handler then began an hour-long session of beatings with the various implements Recnar's team had brought. One of the judges carefully noted the order and number of blows, so that it could be repeated on Sheridan.

There were many different shapes and materials, but the instruments fell into two broad categories: those that were designed to leave red, puffy skin or welts without drawing blood, and those that were designed to bruise without breaking bone.

Recnar did not screech as he had done with the sucker wire torture, but he did yell a lot.

When it was over, Recnar waved to the camera. There was an answering surge of noise from the crowd. But when the instruments were brought over to Sheridan's circle, there was cheering from outside for him, too. He was starting to develop his own fan base.

Sheridan stood the beating without nearly as much noise as Recnar, but the expression on his face left no doubt that he felt it.

Then Lennier and Comac conferred about what to do to Sheridan next. Most of the things in the field station would not be allowed by the rules of the contest because they caused permanent harm.

Then Comac opened a cabinet and brought out a jar filled with a greenish yellow liquid and many small round things like marbles. There was a collective gasp from the crowd.

This was the baltor mar, Comac's specialty and the most distinctly Minbari of all tortures. Many humans supposed the creatures were insects, like mosquitos, and that was why they had nicknamed this the itch bug torture. Minbari knew the parasites were actually closer to being plants than animals. They did not actually burrow into flesh as some humans supposed.

How Comac had come upon the idea, only he knew. But when introduced below the skin, the creatures secreted a toxin that caused small areas of flesh to become black and necrotic and itch like nothing else in the universe. Torture victims who were not restrained, or paralyzed with datansho, sometimes scratched themselves to death by removing too much of their skin surface, or scratching too deeply and opening a vein.

The baltor mar were introduced into flesh by making a V-shaped incision with the triangular pick, placing one creature into the hole, and then flapping the skin back over it. The V-shaped scabs over black necrosis were the most haunting image of torture to come out of the Earth-Minbari war and the reason that Earth still wanted Comac for war crimes.

Sheridan put out a hand to the table to steady himself. During the beating, he had been holding his breath to keep from crying out and was a little dizzy, but the crowd interpreted it as fear and several people from outside called out encouragement to him.

Lennier and Comac worked together. Lennier took the trefoil scalpel and Comac put on the plastic gloves to grab the parasites. Comac held the jar in one hand and reached into it with the other to fish out a creature.

"Starkiller. Don't scratch." Lennier opened the skin of Sheridan's arm and Comac inserted a baltor mar.

It took about three seconds before Sheridan felt the effect. Then with a hiss of indrawn breath, he tipped his head back as if beseeching his God.

Lennier and Comac put three baltor mar into each arm and one into the fleshiest part of each pectoral muscle, for a total of eight. Sheridan squeezed his fists and his eyes shut. A strangled not-quite-scream rose in his throat. He clamped his jaw shut hard and held his breath.

Comac held the jar and watched the timer, ready to take the creatures back out after a short interval. If they were left in too long, the necrosis would spread to the underlayer and become dangerous.

Sheridan held his breath until he slumped over and started to fall down. Firuun caught him and put him on the platform. "Should I substitute for him now?" Firuun asked Lennier.

"No. He's not out of this contest yet. I'll give him a stimulant to revive him."

Comac and Lennier removed the creatures while Sheridan was passed out. Then Comac put the jar away while Lennier opened the interrogation chemistry drawer and removed an intradermal spray applicator and a phial.

One of the judges came over to see what it was. "The contest forbids drugs," he said.

"No, it doesn't. It forbids analgesics and anaesthetics. All other drugs are allowed."

"That is so," the judge proclaimed. "What drug is that?"

Lennier injected it into the unconscious Sheridan and replied, "Amsha."

Comac hurried over. "Amsha by itself?"

Lennier said, "Yes."

Sheridan came awake with a roar, shaking all over.

"You can't give a human Amsha by itself!" Comac shouted. He hurried to the drawer and withdrew another phial. "You have to balance it with Datansho or he'll have seizures!"

Sheridan was jerking nearly off the table now. Firuun held him down.

Comac started to administer the Datansho, but the judge stopped him. "Lennier is the Handler. You may assist in two person tasks, but this is not one of them."

Comac handed off the spray to Lennier, who jammed it into Sheridan's arm and emptied the vial.

"Not that much!" Comac exclaimed. "Datansho is a paralytic. That much will stop his heart! Quick, give him the adrenal!"

"Which one is that?!"

Sheridan stopped jerking and relaxed all at once, arms, legs, jaw, and eyelids.

Comac went to the drawer and withdrew the appropriate vial. "Enthec! Quick!"

"How much?" Lennier was not a slow learner.

"To the first line."

Lennier administered it and Sheridan blinked and coughed, but did not move otherwise.

Firuun asked, "Are you alright, Starkiller?"

Sheridan cleared his throat and replied with a slurred, "I don' really tink sho."

"Mm. Perhaps a little more Amsha, to get the ratio right. This is the reason we started premixing the cocktail, later in the war," Comac said.

Now that they had time for precise calculations, Comac walked Lennier through taking a reading on a sample of Sheridan's blood and injecting just the right amount of Amsha to get his tongue working right again.

"Better?" Comac asked.

Sheridan said, "Yeah, sure, just peachy."

"Your voice sounds much better," Comac said. "You won't be able to walk today, though. Not with that much Datansho in your system." 

"Mm. Good thing this contest doesn't have a racing component."

Lennier turned to the judge and said, "Recnar's turn."

Recnar said, "You miscalculated, amateur. I won't get seizures from Amsha."

"That is true," said the judge. He turned to Lennier and said, "I rule that Recnar must take the same drugs as Sheridan, no matter if they do not have the same effect. He does not need to endure induced seizures."

Inexplicably, Lennier and Sheridan both smiled predatory smiles, as if this ruling were precisely what they were hoping for.

Recnar endured the baltor mar with much shrieking and scratching. He scratched so hard at the first creature that he made himself bleed, and after that his Handler restrained him. Recnar whimpered and struggled against his restraints until the creatures came out. He still tried to scratch after that, but without the screaming.

Then Recnar was injected with the three drugs, which left him just as unable to stand as Sheridan was.

Recnar's Handler used the team's crowning instrument, the punk. After the baltor mar it did not really seem all that impressive.

The punk was carried from the challenger's circle into Sheridan's and Sheridan laughed giddily. "Is that the best you can do? You think I'm afraid of an incense stick?"

He was burned on the chest with the punk, raising white blisters among the sucker marks and V-shaped baltor mar cuts. He did not hold his breath this time, allowing himself to whimper a little. He did not want to pass out again. Then it was over.

"Now, Lennier. This is the time," Sheridan said.

"Yes." Lennier addressed the judge. "You have ruled that if Sheridan is given a drug, Recnar must be given the same drug, even if it affects them differently."

"Yes," affirmed the judge.

Lennier went to the drawer and removed an ampoule. One of the two that Sheridan had added to the drawer.

Recnar's Handler spoke up. "This is a trick! He's going to give him something that's not safe for Minbari!"

Comac replied, "I assure you, this is just as safe for Minbari as for humans. It is a Minbari drug, designed for Minbari."

Sheridan grinned wickedly. "I understand it was originally intended to be given to your peoples' mentally ill. Nasty little side effect though."

Lennier injected Sheridan with the drug.

"What is it?" the judge of the contest asked.

Sheridan laughed, "Match that, Recnar. If you dare. It's loritril."

Recnar's little squeak was drowned out in the buzz of protest from the clan representatives of both sides, and the crowd outside.

The judge shouted for quiet and the shouting died away. "Loritril is illegal."

"It's not against the rules of the contest," Lennier said.

"Well no, it isn't, but it's illegal to possess it. It was made illegal by the terms of the surrender treaty after the Earth-Minbari War."

"Which does not apply to me," Sheridan said. "Being an independent head of state."

The judges conferred. Finally the head judge ruled, "Sheridan is right. It is not illegal for him to possess it. He has already taken it, therefore Recnar must take it too, or concede."

Recnar said, "You're crazy, human! That stuff is forever!"

"Only the first time," Sheridan replied. "It can't hurt me now. I'm already loribonded."

"That's the trick," Recnar's Handler said.

"Yes," Lennier affirmed. "That is indeed the trick."

Recnar said, "There is no way I am taking loritril. I concede."

The crowd erupted with cheers and boos, whistles and hisses.

The judge gestured to Sheridan and said, "Sheridan wins. Give him the winner's sash."

One of the other judges brought over the sash, a grey shoulder sash set with white and black sparkles.

Firrun and Comac each took one of Sheridan's arms and lifted him off the platform into a mostly upright position. Lennier took the sash and got it onto Sheridan, with help from Firuun.

Then Firuun lifted Sheridan in his arms the way one would carry the body of one's beloved dead.

Comac and Lennier got the field station back together and followed Firuun out of the door.

The representatives of the two clans came together in the winner's circle to finalize the clan business decided by the contest.

Firuun appeared in the door of the temple carrying Sheridan's limp body in his arms. The winner's sash glittered in the daylight.

The crowd pulsed with cheers. Some sportsfans threw flower petals onto Sheridan as he was carried along the parade way toward his Whitestar.

\

They got Sheridan settled in the ship's medical bay. "Aren't you forgetting something, Lennier?"

"What?"

"You told me not to concede. I didn't."

Lennier looked around. Comac, Firuun, the ship's doctor, and a gaggle of other medical personnel were all there. He hedged, "I also told you not to scratch. That, you still need."

"The doctor numbed it out. Besides, I'm on so much Datansho I couldn't lift my hand to save my life. The counterphrase, Lennier. Please."

"Everyone clear out," Lennier said.

Comac and Firuun left right away.

The doctor did not budge. "I can guess," he said. "We all can. Don't imagine we are so stupid we have not guessed what 'counterphrase' is meant. In the contest, Sheridan bragged that he was already loribonded."

Lennier nodded, an oddly contrite expression on his face. "Loridano." Then he left.

\

It was a three day journey from Minbar to Babylon 5. In his recovery, Sheridan was attended by the ship's doctor, and Firuun kept him company.

"How are you doing, Starkiller?" Firuun asked.

"Call me John."

"How are you, John?"

"I'm alive. I won. We won."

"I didn't do anything."

"You were there for me. That's what counts."

"Want some water?"

"Yes, thanks."

Firuun lifted his head and held the glass to his lips. "I'll ask Comac how long this is going to last."

Comac stopped by on the first day to tell him what to expect about the drugs. "You've been overdosed with Datansho, so you won't be walking by the time we reach the station. The Amsha component is very high, also. The Datansho will wear off more rapidly than the Amsha. You will be unable to sleep far longer than you will be unable to walk. A week, perhaps. Normally a human who goes without sleep that long will go mad, but you do not need to worry. It is the dreaming that is important to your kind. The loritril will take care of that. These drugs all work together in synergy. That's why the cocktail was balanced that way."

"Well, I'm grateful Lennier left out the other two," Sheridan said.

"The pain enhancers. Yes."

\

The next day Sheridan asked Firuun about canvameta. Firuun explained that Minbari see a partnership in terms of stages of development, and storm-time was the time when a couple faced reality, hashed out their differences, and eventually moved into the next phase, growth-time. Traditionally, one member of the couple, whichever one recognized canvameta first, would build a canvameta nest so the two could spend the traditional three days working things out. Sheridan asked Firuun if it were permissible to have someone build it for him. It was.

\

Lennier did not come to see Sheridan until they docked at Babylon 5. "We're here. I will be going back to the An Lashac training base now. I'm glad you made it, Sheridan."

"Truly?"

"Truly. If you died at my hands, Delenn would hate me forever."

"Ah."

\

Sheridan had regained enough muscle function to dress himself. He put the winner's sash on over his regular clothes.

Just as Comac predicted, he could not walk. He asked Firuun to carry him to his quarters. Sheridan knew he was going to draw a crowd, being carried onto the station wearing the winner's sash. But he earned it, he was proud of it, and he was going to wear it.

Just as he thought, he did cause a stir, even among those who did not know what the winner's sash signified. The Minbari who saw him dropped what they were doing to stare—literally, in one case. Something liquid splashed on the deck.

A group of Minbari sportsfans was waiting for him outside his quarters to offer their congratulations. They gushed about a homemade highlight reel that one of the people in the crowd outside the temple had shot with his communicator off of the relay screen. It was now apparently circulating widely among those who followed the sport.

Firuun got Sheridan inside and arranged him on his bed, sash and all.

The Firuun got on the Babcom and ordered the supplies to turn Sheridan's inner sanctum into a canvameta nest. The supplies were delivered in a few hours, and Firuun started building.

"This isn't the Ritual I thought I was going to help you with," Firuun said. "But I'm glad I can help."

"You did help me win," Sheridan assured him. "You were my safety net. I didn't fall, but it was good to know it was there if I did."

"Safety net?"

Sheridan spent the next hour telling Firuun about flying circuses, while Firuun worked.

When it was finished, the 'nest' was a canopy tent within the room, supported by wooden posts. It was all white, except for silver lightning streaks decorating the cloth roof and the posts. A few drops of silver paint had fallen onto the bed, the floor, and Firuun's boots.

The tent ceiling attached to the posts with white ropes.

"These knots are worked military-caste fashion," Firuun said. "But that's OK. You're as military as anybody I know."

"Thanks."

"I'll send a message before I go. See you in three days?"

"Count on it. And thank you, Firuun."

"You're welcome. John."

\

Delenn received the message from Firuun in her quarters. It was cryptic; "It's time to go to Sheridan's quarters." Nothing more. Delenn recognized Firuun as the crazy warrior caste wreck-survivor who had been on ISN. She did not know what to expect, but she hoped it meant John had come home. She went to his quarters and walked in to find them darkened except for the bedroom behind the frosted door.

She opened the door and stopped in surprise. She noticed the sash first. "That was where you went? I thought you'd left me."

"Left you? Delenn, you know how much I love you. You're my reason for living."

"Is this, well I can see it's a canvameta nest. I should have recognized it first. The canvameta, I mean."

Delenn climbed onto the bed and embraced her husband. He raised one hand to her arm, shakily, and sweat broke out on his forehead with the effort.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing that time won't cure," Sheridan replied.

"I must do something," Delenn said. She went out into the living room and got on the stellarcom to the Ranger headquarters. "Cancel the search order on Sheridan."

Then Delenn came back inside and sat down beside Sheridan.

Eyes wide, he asked, "You thought I'd left you, so you sent the An Lashac to hunt me down?"

"Not like that. To find you. To bring you back."

"Still, it's a good thing Lennier was with me where he wouldn't get that order. I can easily picture him bringing you my head in a basket of roses. Of course you know, he'd be insufferable after that."

"John. You know I'm not in love with Lennier."

"And I'm not in love with Lochley."

"I know. I did not mean to sound accusatory, about the secret meetings. Well, I did, but not about that. I just knew you were up to something and you weren't telling me what it was."

"I'm always up to something, Delenn. I'm the President of the Interstellar Alliance."

"There is nothing you do in that capacity that is not my business."

"That's true. And you're right, I was up to something. I was plotting with Lennier to go to the Ritual of Endurance. Because I knew you wouldn't let me if you knew I was planning to do it. Because you care so much."

Delenn smiled and snuggled into the nest. "I should have known better. But after that terrible argument, to suddenly have to go away so I would not meet the challenge courier, and then to come back after the time set for the Ritual to begin and find you gone."

"I didn't leave a note in case you might have found it before the Ritual began, and stopped it. As it is, nobody knows you didn't send me. If anyone thought you were too soft to be the leader of the Rangers, I'm sure nobody thinks that now."

"Always thinking of me. That's very sweet, John."

"Now that that's settled, um, what else do we need to talk about? I understand we've got three days to fill up."

"Not all of it is talk," Delenn said. "Tomorrow we are both supposed to go on traditional head-clearing walks. We start off in opposite directions and walk at random. We are supposed to think and regroup at nightfall. Of course, there is no nightfall here. Dinnertime will do."

"Walking. Ah. That might present a bit of a problem. Well, I've gotten back a lot of muscle function already, I might be walking by tomorrow."

"John, what happened? Are your legs injured?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I got an accidental overdose of Datansho."

"In the Ritual?! They used drugs? Torture drugs? Clan Limuu has gone too far!"

"No, we introduced them. Calm down, Delenn. It's over, and I won."

Delenn smoothed the fabric of the winner's sash across John's chest, and he managed not to wince. Then Delenn pulled the sash off of him and set it aside. She started in on the fastenings of his jacket.

"Delenn, I'm pretty sure that's not what we're supposed to be doing in this nest."

"I don't care. I haven't seen you in a week."

"Wait, Delenn."

"You usually like it when I take charge."

"There's a big difference between doing what you want because I want to please you and, um, um…" Sheridan waved his fingers to indicate his current physical state.

"You're always so awkward when you try to talk about your feelings. I understand it's a design flaw of the human male." She got the jacket off and started in on the shirt.

"Wait, Delenn. Before you look, understand, we were trying to make it look scary. To psych out my opponent."

"I know the objective of the contest is to frighten the opponent into quitting." Delenn got his shirt off and gasped at what she saw. His chest bore sucker marks, pinprick burns, and two of the distinctive V-marks over black areas of the baltor mar. "In Valen's name. Not the baltor mar."

She reached as if to touch one of the V-marks, and Sheridan exclaimed, "Don't!"

Delenn let her hand fall.

"It's just that if you touch it, it might start to itch again. The ship's doctor gave me numb patches, but they wear off."

"This is horrible, John."

There was a long pause. Delenn got up and set the sash on top of a bureau. Then she turned back to him with a smile. "I'll just have to give you something else to think about." Delenn shed her dress and climbed back into the nest, straddling his legs.

"I don't think I can do much right now, Delenn."

"You just relax. I'll do everything."

The End


	7. Chapter 7

Wargames

7th and final story in the Loribond series

Was that the creaking of a mast, in this vast sea? Sheridan blinked. The white canopy above him was not a sail, but the silver-streaked canvameta tent. The creaking was the bed as Delenn climbed back in. She had some left-over pieces of the tent rope.

The heartbeat shushing of the ocean was just another loritril dream-state illusion, he recognized. He had learned to ignore them when he had to, although this version of the sea had been rather peaceful, a true dream rather than a nightmare, and he had been pretending to be asleep.

Delenn picked up his arm.

"No!" He sat bolt upright. This was the first time he had been able to sit straight up without rolling to the side or using his hands to lever himself up, since he had taken the Datansho.

"You were scratching in your sleep," Delenn explained.

"No I wasn't. I wasn't asleep."

"Well, you were scratching, then. People have injured themselves scratching at the baltor mar."

"The numb patches wear off too fast on the ones on the chest. The arm ones don't bother me nearly as much. Would you please be a sweetie and get me another numb patch?"

Delenn looked disappointed. "You let me do this before."

"That was before." He meant, before Mars, but he didn't say it.

"It's for your own good. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

Sheridan went white and scuttled away, propping himself up against the headboard. "Never say that."

"What's wrong, John?"

He sighed and rubbed his face. "I guess this is as good a time as any. This," he indicated the canvameta nest, "is all about facing reality, right?"

"Among other things," replied Delenn cautiously.

"First I really need a couple of numb patches. These are driving me absolutely bughouse."

"Alright." Delenn tossed the ropes into a corner with a sigh of regret, and retrieved the patches.

Sheridan applied them to the two V-marks on his chest.

Delenn propped herself up on one elbow and regarded her husband. "What reality do you mean to face now, John?"

"Huh. What a way to put it. What's reality? What's truth? I can see the sea, Delenn. I can see it, all around me, and I can hear it. This time it's not an ocean of fear but the great mother ocean of Earth. Protecting. Calming. Because this time, you're the sea."

"Is that a metaphor?"

"I suppose. No, it's more than a metaphor. It's timab."

"Timab? I didn't know you had an interest in Minbari religious philosophy."

"I have an interest in knowing what's real and what isn't. But it turned out to be not quite that simple. Level 5 happened in timab, but Anna's really dead, and I really killed her. Level 6 happened in ren, but I didn't really destroy the Agamemnon. So what's reality? What's truth?"

"What are you talking about?" Delenn moved up next to him, sitting against the headboard along with him.

"I told you I'd talk about Mars when I was ready. I guess I'm ready. But that was what happened right after. A consequence of Mars."

Delenn took Sheridan's hand. "I do not understand."

Sheridan looked at Delenn and saw her dark hair waving in the tide, as kelp, and gleaming silver scales down her tail. "You make a beautiful mermaid," he said.

"A what?"

"Never mind. It's only a loritril dream-state illusion."

"A what?" Delenn's eyes widened and then her face and voice went hard. She let go of his hand and slid off the bed. "You're on loritril? Right now?"

"It's OK, you don't have to worry about a loribond forming. I'm already loribonded. That's how I won the contest. My opponent wouldn't take the stuff. But it can't hurt me now."

"You told everyone you were rescued before a loribond formed."

"I was. I was trying to keep this a secret, but the ship's doctor is right, now that I've bragged in public during the Ritual that I'm already loribonded, it's not going to stay much of a secret for very long. If the ship's doctor guessed it, other people are going to guess too. And then the rumor might come around to you at a bad time and in a bad way. I thought you should know."

"Of course I should know! If some Earth Force intelligence officer is controlling you—"

"They're not. And I couldn't risk that happening. Someone had to usurp the bond."

Delenn came back to his side and wrapped a careful arm around his waist, where he had no wounds. "So you became loribonded to one of your rescuers? Someone in the Mars Resistance? Or, is it Garibaldi?"

"No. No, despite everything I heard from Lyta, I didn't really quite trust him, then. And Dr. Franklin told everyone to stay away from me. I didn't get a chance to slip the quarantine until I arrived back at the Fleet. And then it was getting close to too late, so I grabbed the first person I thought I could trust. Well, no, that's not exactly true. I made a very reasoned choice. I had to choose someone who was not one of my direct subordinates, because I didn't think I could bond properly to one of them. And also, I had to choose someone who would be willing to do the things, to me, that are necessary to form and test a loribond. I would choose differently now, knowing what I know, that I didn't know then. But the choice has turned out well. The Ritual proved that. With him as my Handler, there was no way I could lose."

"Lennier? You're loribonded to Lennier?"

"We were keeping this a secret at first for strategic reasons. The Clarkist interrogators on Mars kept wanting me to admit to being influenced by aliens. The hell of it is, thanks to them, now I really am. That's not something I wanted the public to know during the final battle for Earth. It could have divided the fleet."

"And afterwards?"

"The loribond itself is illegal in Minbari law, unless it's an accident. Right?"

"Yes, that is true. Loribonding is an atrocity."

"I can't let it become public knowledge who I'm loribonded to, Delenn."

"Because Lennier could go to prison. Unless I intervene."

"Which would reflect badly on you."

"Which neither of you will allow. I see."

"I'm…" Sheridan trailed off.

"What? What more could there possibly be?"

"Until his transport leaves for the Ranger training base, he's still on the station. If you wanted to talk to him about this, the next few days would be the time. You don't want this kind of thing on an open comm. I can rely on the Whitestar's medical staff to be discrete, and so far no one else knows for certain. Although I'm sure others suspect."

"That's not what you were going to say."

"Delenn, I still trust him, he got me through this contest and it all turned out exactly as planned. Well, not exactly, exactly except for the damned itching. But his presence on this station makes me nervous, now. Delenn, I think he enjoyed his part in the Ritual."

Delenn thought a moment. "If he did, can you blame him?"

"No. No, I can't. I understand his feelings all too well."

"I knew there was something strange going on between you two," Delenn said. "I thought it was jealousy. Rivalry. I would never have guessed this." They sat in silence for a time.

"Wait a moment," Delenn said. "What you said before, about levels. You were talking about loribond testing, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Meaning that Lennier tested you."

"I am fully bonded, phrased, and tested."

"Tested to level six?"

"Yes."

"John," Delenn sat back so she could look at him. "What did Lennier—do?"

"If you're asking if he required the ultimate act of submission from me, that part did not happen in ren. And in the loritril vision, humans substituted for him."

"I see," Delenn whispered. There was disgust on her face.

"It had to be done, Delenn. Could you trust me, if I was loribonded to an enemy?"

She took a long time to respond, thinking. "No. You're right." She turned to him with a gentle smile, then, and touched his face. "I find it daunting, how much you've sacrificed for me."

Then she sighed, and positioned herself where she could look at him again. "But no matter how much we love each other, we are still keeping poisonous secrets. That has to end. Here, in the canvameta."

"You started it," Sheridan said.

"What, keeping secrets? You're not still holding Anna's return against me, are you?"

"No, no. Well yes, actually. But I meant your other secret. The one I found out about while qualifying for the Ritual. You started it. Now I know. All the cards on the table."

"You do still hold Anna's return against me?"

"If we're going to go back over every thing that's ever divided us, we're going to be here all day."

"Oh, if we go back over every thing that's ever divided us, we're going to be here for a very long time indeed. Starkiller."

Sheridan winced. Now that the Ritual was over, he never wanted to hear that word again. "Well, like I said. You started it. The war, that is. Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Oh. Oh, John. I see. Lennier must have announced that. To qualify you as my Former Enemy?"

"That was not the moment to be kicked in the teeth about that, Delenn. Not with what I was planning to do for you. You should have told me."

"You're right. I should have. I, I think I need to think. You and I have never talked about the war. Not really."

"Do you want to?"

"No. I don't."

"Me neither."

"Which probably means we should, since this is canvameta. Get it out of the way so we never have to revisit it."

"I suppose."

"But I'm not quite ready yet. I think this would be a good time for the traditional head-clearing walk."

"I think I could walk, now. But not all day."

"Let's give ourselves an hour, then. It will be nightfall somewhere on Minbar."

Slowly, Sheridan said, "Yeah. Nightfall. Lunchtime. I guess we have a lot to talk about still."

They got dressed and walked out into the corridor. "I'm going for a walk," Delenn announced.

"Me too," said Sheridan.

They walked off in opposite directions.

\

Delenn tried to simply walk at random, but found her footsteps brought her onto a familiar path. She was in the garden. She knew this was a place John was likely to come too, so she kept an eye out for him, to clear out if he came in. They were supposed to do their thinking separately and then have any necessary arguments in the canvameta tent.

Sitting and staring at a tree without really seeing it, Delenn went back over their last discussion in her mind. What had possessed her to call him Starkiller? She had seen the hurt in his body language and had not even apologized.

Well, that crazy warrior Firuun called him Starkiller and John didn't seem to mind. Yes, she told herself, but Firuun said it with admiration.

And Lennier—Lennier was the most self-effacing, submissive being she had ever known. When he first became her aide, she had had to order him to look her in the eye, or he would have spent all his time around her staring at the floor. Lennier as loribond controller to Sheridan? Sheridan the strong-willed, the natural leader, the alpha male?

Her mind boggled. But she knew Sheridan had a passive side. She had thought she was the only one he ever yielded to. What was that odd emotion she felt, below the shock? Was it jealousy? Of Lennier, in Valen's name?

Was this what was behind the change in Lennier? His sudden desire to stop being her assistant and go off to become Anla'shok? Had loribonding Sheridan to himself caused him to discover a new side of himself? Yes, it must have. A side that had mastery over a sovereign.

Yes, that made perfect sense. Delenn could see it, all complete. That was when Lennier had changed. In loribonding Sheridan, he had had to learn to command him. That had made Lennier an overlord. And what had it done to Sheridan?

"Delenn?"

"Yes, Garibaldi. I know you were trying to contact John earlier, but he was not up to dealing with matters of state. He is still recovering from the Ritual."

"Just wanted to give you two a heads-up. Capt. Lochley made an announcement in the meeting while you were both gone. That Earth Force warship that's hanging outside the station?"

"Yes?"

"Lochley's allowed them to take over part of Grey Sector for a few days for wargames. She really wanted to get Sheridan's stamp of approval on that, even though it's an internal Earth Force matter, because it borders on a political decision. But with him gone, she decided to give it the green light. She said she knew his policy was to promote unity. And having this kind of exercise here shows just how much we're not at war anymore. Not just at peace, but actively allies."

"That makes sense," Delenn said. "I will relay the message when I see John again this afternoon."

"Thanks. Be seeing you."

\

Sheridan got into an elevator and leaned against the wall to rest. The walk down the corridor had exhausted him. The Datansho was still affecting him. He did not want to be seen like this, and he wanted peace and quiet to think. So he decided to take his walk in a deserted area of the station.

"Grey fifteen."

The elevator car descended and stopped, but the doors did not open. The computer voice said, "This level is off limits."

"What the hell do you mean, off limits?" 

The computer, being literal-minded, repeated, "This level is off limits."

"Override. Authorization Sheridan." 

"Override approved." The door slid open and Sheridan exited into what should have been an empty corridor.

Instead, a fully armored Earth Force Marine popped out of a side corridor and pointed a PPG rifle at him. "Hands up!" ordered the trooper.

"What the hell are you doing on my station?" Sheridan demanded.

The Marine fired. It was not the deadly red of a normal PPG burst, but the blue of a stun bolt.

The bolt hit Sheridan square in the chest. It felt about like the sucker wire torture, and staggered him for a moment. Then he ran straight at the trooper and attacked.

He could not punch the Marine in the face because of the riot-helmet-like face shield, so he settled for trying to wrestle the rifle away. But he was weak with Datansho, and the gropo overpowered him.

Two more Marines ran out of the side corridor and grabbed his arms, and got his hands behind him. They cuffed him, pulled his link off of his hand, and hustled him away, while the gropo with the rifle called for replacements for his two assistants.

"What is going on?" Sheridan demanded.

The two Marines brought him to a room that was obviously being used as a staging area or guard post. A whole squad of gropos was inside.

"I think we caught the ringer, sir," said one of the Marines.

The lieutenant in charge asked, "Why's that, Wilkes?"

"He took a stun bolt and didn't even blink. He must be wearing a stunner shield net."

"Let's find out," said the lieutenant. "Get that shirt off of him."

Sheridan growled, "What is the name of all that's holy is going on here?"

His captors uncuffed him and stripped him to the waist.

One of the older gropos, a noncom, recognized the marks on him and exclaimed, "Good God, what happened to him?"

Sheridan struggled against having his hands cuffed behind him again, but in his drugged state he was no match for even one Marine, let alone two.

"This is an act of war!" Sheridan shouted.

One of the Marines handed off Sheridan's shirt and jacket to the lieutenant, who turned them inside out and examined them carefully. "There's no shield net in here."

"There has to be, sir!" protested the Marine. "I saw him take a stunner hit and he didn't go down. Nobody's immune to stunner fire!"

"No, they're not," agreed the lieutenant. "You're right, he must be the ringer. The Major will figure out how he did it."

Realizing that the gropos did not know who he was, Sheridan's voice came out much calmer as he said, "Why don't you ask me?"

"It's not allowed," said the lieutenant. "But we can ask who you are. Who are you?"

"John Sheridan."

One of the Marines punched him in his already very bruised ribs. The muscle behind the armored gloves could have broken them easily, but the gropo was hitting for attention, not damage.

"Hey!" Sheridan protested.

"Try again, hotshot," said the gropo. "Everybody knows every terrorist on Mars says their name's John Sheridan. Even the women."

"We're not on Mars!" Sheridan grated. But then his eyes widened, and his voice came out weak and uncertain. "Are we?"

The lieutenant walked over to him. "Let's try that again. What is your real name?"

"John Sheridan."

The Marine hit him again.

"Oh, God. I'm still on Mars. The whole past summer has been a loritril dream-state illusion."

"That's enough of that," said lieutenant. "Take him to the Major."

\

Sheridan noticed all the Marines in this group were wearing blue armbands. As they walked him to the rear, the detachment came under fire from opposing Marines with red armbands.

"War games?" Sheridan wondered aloud.

"In here!" one of the Marines yelled, and propelled him into a door. The door did not open, and he smacked right into it, resulting in a bloody lip.

Then the shooting was over and the ground-pounders dragged him along at an exhausting run until they reached a guarded turning, and apparently were behind the lines. The Marines had to hold him up as the Datansho ate at his strength.

Finally he was brought before the Major, in what was obviously the command post, since it contained Marines without armor, and lots of communications equipment. The two Marines let Sheridan go and he sagged to the floor, and ended up lying on his side on the cold metal deck, with his hands bound behind him.

As the gropos reported to the Major, Sheridan's vision wavered, and he found himself in his cell on Mars. Which was the loritril illusion? The Grey Sector room or the Mars cell? Which was real?

Then he was back on Babylon 5, in Grey Sector, but that made no sense. The Station would not be overrun with gropos. Not unless he had lost the war. But if the whole summer had been a loritril illusion, then he had never been rescued. The final battle had never happened.

His gaze came to rest on the one element that was out of place no matter which was real: Claire Heilig. And an ISN cameraman.

She was saying something about an exciting development in the war games.

The Major dismissed the grunts and came over to talk to Sheridan. "Who are you?"

Sheridan did not respond.

"It's a simple question. Who are you?"

"Please don't hit me again," Sheridan said.

"Nobody's going to rough you up. What's your name?"

"John Sheridan."

"Your real name," said the Major.

Sheridan did not answer at first. After a pause, he whispered, "John Sheridan."

Heilig came over to the Major. "If I may? I've interviewed President Sheridan. That's really him."

The Major looked down at the prisoner on the floor: blood on his face, bruises everywhere, covered with obvious signs of torture. The Major bit off a paint-blistering string of swear words. "What the hell happened?"

Then the Major must have realized the answer, or an answer, to his question. "Sheridan?" 

The man on the floor looked up.

"My Marines tell me they think you're the ringer because they stunned you and you didn't fall. But they couldn't find a stunner shield net on you."

"Yes, that's what happened," Sheridan said. "If any of this is real, anyway. That dragon over by the wall seems to think this is all very amusing."

"Dragon?" the Major asked, surprised into throwing a glance over his shoulder.

The ISN cameraman stepped closer to get a better shot of Sheridan.

Heilig said, "Another incredible part of the Sheridan legend. Now they say he's immune to stunner fire."

"Well?" asked the Major. "How do you explain it?"

"I can't fall unconscious because I'm on Amsha."

The Major grunted. "I didn't know you were going to be part of the war games, sir." He turned to one of his Marines. "Corporal Nguyen, go up to the guard post and get the Captain his clothes back."

The gropo left.

"Do you require medical treatment, Captain Sheridan?"

"No. Yes. Actually. Got any itch cream?"

One of the younger gropos chuckled, but the Major turned a withering eye on him. "Baltor mar is no laughing matter. If those were real, they'd be driving him nuts."

"They ARE real," said Sheridan. "And they ARE driving me nuts."

Heilig gestured to her cameraman. "Get some good shots of that damage."

The cameraman stepped slowly around Sheridan, getting good views of the bruises and marks on his back, his bound hands, the baltor mar shapes on his arms, and around to the front to get shots of the sucker wire marks, more baltor mar shapes, burns, and finally in on his face, with the split lip and the blood trailing into his beard, and most of all, the terrible, haunted look in his eyes.

Heilig asked, "How did you get involved in this?"

Sheridan didn't respond.

"Mr. President?"

"You are a loritril dream state illusion."

"Why do you think that?"

"What's more likely? That the same person who set me up then rescued me right at the last moment? That I then rejoined my fleet and drove straight for Earth, still having loritril hallucinations, and won? That I then became President of the Interstellar Alliance, married Delenn, and lived happily ever after?"

Sheridan started to shiver with the cold from the deck on which he lay.

He continued, "Except that for some reason I've been tortured twice since then—by Minbari— my mind must have made up some bizarre excuse at their suggestion. Is all that very likely, or is it more likely that I'm still on Mars. In the interrogation center. All this is an elaborate illusion meant to throw me off guard. You're not an interrogator, you're a reporter. I'm not on Mars, I'm on Babylon 5— which is still independent but for some reason has been overrun by Earth Force. Right. Does that sound very plausible to you?"

"It does sound strange," Heilig admitted. "But you know what they say. Truth is stranger than fiction."

"Which truth? Ren or timab? Whose truth? When truth? Daytime truth, lunchtime truth, nighttime truth?"

Heilig looked at her cameraman and made a keep-rolling gesture, but backed away. "He's insane."

"No," said the Major. "He's wargaming. And he's really good at it. He's playing the part of a prisoner whose reality has started to come apart from the stress. When you told me who he is I thought command had really flipped their wig to put Sheridan in the middle of this scenario, given that some of our boys are probably still holding a grudge. But now I can see why they included him. He's making this really realistic."

The Major went over to a box marked with a red cross and rummaged in it.

"Hey Claire, I know I told you that you couldn't broadcast any of this until after the wargames were over, to keep from giving an advantage to Red Team. But I don't see any harm in letting you have some of the Sheridan stuff right away."

"Are you sure?" asked Heilig. "Out of context, this could look really bad."

"That's not my concern," said the Major. "My mandate is to win this wargame. And to accommodate you as much as possible without compromising the mission."

"Thank you, Major."

"Now, boys and girls, watch two old hands play this like we mean it." The Major gestured for the Marines to gather around and watch, and they did.

Heilig got out of the shot and the cameraman focused in just on the Major and Sheridan, as if they were alone.

The Major squatted down in front of Sheridan. "Those baltor mar things must be really itching like the devil by now."

Sheridan looked up at him with an expression like a lost soul: part pain, part hate, a large portion of the strange patience of the eternally damned, and no hope at all.

"When is the next strike coming? Where is it coming? How many will be there?"

Sheridan did not respond. He just lay on his side, shivering slightly, looking up at the Major.

The Major waved a tube in Sheridan's face. "This is a topical anaesthetic. Tell me what I want to know, and I'll numb out the baltor mar."

Sheridan just lay there.

"Where is the next strike going to be, Captain Sheridan? Tell me."

Just as he had on Mars, Sheridan grated, "No."

"Suit yourself," said Major. He set the tube down right in front of Sheridan's face. "This will be here whenever you change your mind."

The Major stood up, winked at Heilig, and walked back to his seat near the comm equipment. He gestured at it invitingly.

Heilig was rarely floored by what she saw anymore, but this time she was. She turned to the Major and stammered, "Y- you'd let me broadcast that? Out of context? No mention of the wargames?"

"ISN spat out enough garbage last year, you might as well put out some for our side. Understand, Heilig, I was on Sheridan's side in the last war. No one who knows anything about the way the war really went down will believe any of that. But if a few dirtsuckers back on dear old Earth see that and finally decide that maybe Clark wasn't the greatest thing since the invention of the orgasmatron, maybe it'll do some good. Even if it is just propaganda. Hell, we deserve some propaganda of our own."

Heilig nodded. She had been known to rearrange the truth to make a story juicier many times. Although she was on ISN now, she was really known for tabloid broadcasts; the only reason she was on ISN at all was because so many 'real' reporters had been disappeared by the Clark regime. And although their deaths had given her this big break, they were still her brothers and sisters in the media, and Clark's knife had brushed a little too close to her own skin.

"Alright. I'll do it." Heilig sat down with the cameraman and edited together a special report in her Man Behind the Myth series.

\

Delenn came into medlab. "Dr. Franklin? Have you seen John?"

"No, sorry. Was he coming down here?"

"I thought he might have stopped by for some more numb patches."

"Numb patches? What's wrong with him?"

"He encountered a nonsentient Minbari lifeform that did not agree with his skin."

Dr. Franklin smiled in relief. "Oh, I see. Here, take some of these. Have him come by later, so I can examine him."

"Thank you, doctor."

\

The ISN logo came on the screen in the bar. Claire Heilig appeared in front of a blank station wall. "And now, a special report in our ongoing series, The Truth About John Sheridan: the Man Behind the Myth. I've just received permission from Earth Force to broadcast a very special piece of archival footage."

Carla gestured for Firuun and the other regulars to join her in front of the screen. "Hey guys! It's another Sheridan report!" They all gathered around.

The camera began with the long circle of Sheridan lying on the deck, bare above the waist, hands bound behind him. The various marks and bruises of the Ritual of Endurance were plainly visible, along with the new split lip.

"What in space?" wondered Firuun aloud.

The camera zoomed in on the sucker marks and the distinctive V-shapes of the baltor mar. There was no voice-over. Heilig was letting the 'archival footage' speak for itself.

On the screen, a uniformed Earth Force Marine Major squatted down in front of Sheridan. "Those baltor mar things must be really itching like the devil by now."

Sheridan looked up at him. His silence was a kind of defiance, but there was hopelessness in his eyes.

The Major asked, "When is the next strike coming? Where is it coming? How many will be there?"

Sheridan said nothing. He was shaking. In cold? In fear? In reaction to drugs?

The Major waved a tube in Sheridan's face. "This is a topical anaesthetic. Tell me what I want to know, and I'll numb out the baltor mar."

Sheridan just lay there.

In the bar, Firuun stood up in outrage. "That's here! That's on the station! Those are the marks from the Ritual, it's got to be happening right now!"

On the screen, the Major asked, "Where is the next strike going to be, Captain Sheridan? Tell me."

Sheridan grated, "No."

"Suit yourself," said Major. He set the tube down in front of Sheridan's face. "This will be here whenever you change your mind." The Major stood up and walked out of the shot.

The camera zoomed in on Sheridan's face, resting against the metal deckplates, and the tube sitting in front of it.

Then the view changed to Heilig in front of the blank wall again. "Once again, this is Claire Heilig, showing you recently released vid of Sheridan as a prisoner of Earth Force. This shocking footage has just now been made available to us by Earth Force. I'll have more on the next regularly scheduled episode of John Sheridan: the Man Behind the Myth. Claire Heilig for ISN, signing off."

Firuun gestured to the bar regulars. "Come on, everybody! We'll comb the station til we find Sheridan!"

"I'm with you!" Carla yelled, jumping up.

Firuun looked around at the others, but they all looked down into their drinks.

"Alright. It's you and me, then, Carla. Let's go!"

"Just the two of us? Without any weapons?" Carla asked.

"We know the terrain. And you know gropos. You know how they think. We'll bring him back alive! Besides, who says we don't have any weapons?" Firuun detached a metal cylinder from his belt and extended his Minbari Fighting Pike. Then he collapsed it again and stashed it on his belt, where it looked like a big belt buckle once again.

As they hurried out of the bar and across the Zocalo, Carla asked, "How will we find him?"

"Don't worry. I'm an engineer. That broadcast had to come from somewhere. All I need to do is shuttle over to my ship and get some tools. Come with me, we're allowed to bring visitors. We're all just one big happy alliance now, right?"

\

Delenn checked with Mr. Allen in Security. She pictured Sheridan slumped over in some out of the way place, overcome by the Datansho, alone and far from help.

"No, I haven't seen him," Allen said.

"Could you call him on the link for me, please?"

"Sure." He touched his link. "Security to Sheridan. Sheridan, please respond." There was no answer. "I'll send someone to look for him," Allen promised.

"Thank you."

\

When Firuun and Carla came aboard the war cruiser, they found the Captain waiting for them. "We were just waiting for you, Firuun. We knew you'd want to be a part of the rescue operation."

"Sir?"

"We monitored the broadcast. Your colleagues in Engineering have already triangulated its origin. Go get yourself some armor. Today you're on loan to the boarding party."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" Firuun boomed.

"We want Sheridan back, too," said the Captain.

Carla asked, "Is this a private fight or can anybody join in?"

Firuun grinned, recognizing that as one of the human fighting ritual phrases that Carla had taught him.

"A boarding action is no place for a civilian," the Captain said.

"I'm only a civilian because I was medically discharged, on a psychological," Carla said. She turned to Firuun and explained, "That's how I met Ike, before he ever founded the FPFP. In the support group. He became our spokesman."

Firuun softened his voice as much as he could. "Carla. You're a loribond victim?"

"Yes." She turned back to the Captain. "And now I stand ready to fight alongside the Minbari. If you'll have me, Captain."

"In that case, how could I refuse? Armor up, and check out a weapon."

She smiled. "Thank you, Captain."

\

Delenn walked into Command and Control. "Captain Lochley, have you seen John?"

"No, was he on his way to C and C?"

"No. He's missing. He was supposed to be back an hour ago."

"If he comes up here, I'll let him know you were looking for him."

"I mean he's missing, Capt. Missing and not answering his link."

Lochley addressed her lieutenant. "Find Sheridan's link."

"Grey 15," replied the young officer.

"Damn," Lochley swore. "That's in the middle of the war games exclusion zone."

"Ma'am?" the lieutenant said. "I heard ISN just broadcast something about him. I don't know what, but the computer flags any newscasts with local references."

"Play it," ordered Lochley.

Heilig's ISN broadcast, which had originated on the station and then been picked up by repeaters, and rebroadcast from Earth, began to replay on the main screen in C and C. When the screen started to show the silent view of Sheridan's injuries, there was a murmur around the bridge, and one young ensign covered her mouth.

"Old news," Lochley said. "Shut it off."

"No, wait," said Delenn. "That's not really archival vid from his imprisonment. That's what he looked like this morning, minus the bloody face. This had to be filmed after Sheridan went missing."

C and C went silent as the Major questioned Sheridan on the screen.

After the replay of the newscast, Lochley said, "It's the wargames. Lieutenant, patch me through to the command posts of both wargames teams."

"I can't, ma'am. We're being jammed."

"What? Get me a line to the Pegasus."

"Jammed."

The main screen went back to a view of the space around the station, from hardwired cameras mounted on the station's hull.

"Look!" Delenn said. "They're maneuvering."

"The Pegasus?"

"The war cruiser," Delenn answered.

The Minbari war cruiser that was ostensibly there to protect Babylon 5 was moving in very close to the station.

The lieutenant said, "They're turning broadside. They're within 50 meters of the station hull. Ma'am, that's Grey Sector."

"They're after Sheridan," Lochley concluded. "They must be the ones jamming us. Lieutenant, punch through that jamming and get me the wargames command posts."

"Yes, ma'am. Ma'am! Breaching pod!"

Everyone in C and C looked up at the screen. He was right; a breaching pod sailed away from the Minbari war cruiser toward the station hull.

"Pegasus is igniting her engines," the lieutenant reported. "Her weapons are going live."

"In Valen's name," Delenn said. "Not another Earth-Minbari war. By mistake. Again."

"Not if I can help it," said Lochley. "Defense grid on. Can you raise the Starfury pilot's ready room?"

"You're on, Ma'am."

"Starfury pilots. Take up position between the Minbari war cruiser and the Pegasus and screen them from each other. Deny them the opportunity for hostile action. Go!"

The breeching pod settled onto the station about the same time the Starfuries spat out of it. They were much faster than the capital ships and were able to get into position before the war cruiser had finished backing off from the station. The tense confrontation between the two warships froze, neither side willing to fire on Babylon 5 fighters.

"Now we wait," said Lochley. "One way or another, the boarding battle will be over before any of our security could get there."

"Here you go, sir," said Cpl. Nguyen. He had Sheridan's shirt and jacket bundled up in one hand, and was setting Sheridan's link down on the map table with the other. Nguyen walked around Sheridan and knelt down behind him, and freed his hands from the restraints.

Sheridan immediately snatched the tube of topical anesthetic and squeezed dollops out onto the baltor mar V-shapes on his chest. He sighed in blissful relief as he sat up and applied the cream to the V-shapes on his arms as well.

"That's pretty impressive," commented the Major. "The makeup doesn't smear when you spread the cream over it."

"It's not makeup," Sheridan said. "These are real."

"Right," said the Major, with a shake of his head.

Nguyen gave Sheridan his clothes back, and Sheridan shrugged on the shirt and jacket.

"Sir," said the corporal. "I'm a big fan of yours." He took a small notebook out of a cargo pocket. "Could I have your autograph?"

Sheridan stared for a moment. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry. You want me to sign a blank piece of paper?"

Cpl. Nguyen asked, "Please? I've never met anybody famous before."

Sheridan said, "And what exactly is going to be printed above my signature? A confession, maybe? To treason, and mutiny, and conspiracy, and murder. Naming my accomplices. With a plea for mercy based on alien influences. And a sincere apology to Earth and my family, and a wish to get the help I need to become a productive citizen."

Nobody missed the reference there. They had all seen plenty of ISN broadcasts of the Clark administration's version of a show trial.

"Sorry, sir," Nguyen said. He put the notebook away and backed off, embarrassed. Then he remembered he was supposed to put Sheridan's handcuffs back on, and came back to do so.

"Wow," said the Major. "You never break character. Wargaming with you is an absolute joy, Captain."

At that moment, there was a loud sound from the floor. The area between the command post and the steel skin of Babylon 5. A ragged oval outline in the floor began to glow.

Sheridan scuttled away from the hot floor, dragging Nguyen with him. He had one cuff on his right hand, and the other circle swung loose.

The Marines all backed off, too, diving for weapons. The Major pulled his sidearm.

Sheridan tried to slip the chain of the handcuffs around Nguyen's neck and use it as a weapon, but the Datansho still affected his muscles, and Cpl. Nguyen wrestled Sheridan's attack away and spun him around. The corporal's stated admiration for Sheridan did not stop him from stomping on the back of his knee and riding him to the deck to bring him down. He nearly had the cuffs back on him when the sparks flew.

With a loud pop of equalizing air pressure, the floor was breeched and Minbari warriors in full space armor poured through. The biggest one was right in the front, toting a massive Minbari ray gun.

"Nobody move!" boomed Firuun. His voice was unmistakable even through the suit's PA system.

"Firuun!" Sheridan exclaimed, grinning briefly. But then he remembered that Firuun wasn't real. None of this was real. He was still on Mars.

"Drop your weapons!" ordered Firuun.

The Major dropped his handgun. "Do as they say," he commanded the gropos. "I'm absolutely certain there was no Minbari participation in the wargames scenario. These guys aren't playing."

The Marines dropped their weapons.

Carla rushed to the comm equipment and made sure no alert had gone out. "We're clear," she reported.

Firuun went to Sheridan and helped him to his feet. "You OK, Starkiller?"

"I'll live. Get me out of the bracelet." He held up the dangling handcuff. "He's got the key." Sheridan pointed to Cpl. Nguyen. "And for godssakes, call me John already."

"Sure, John." Firuun extended an armored hand to Nguyen, who provided the key without a word. Then Firuun removed the handcuff and gave cuff and key back to Nguyen.

"All done, and I didn't even get to whack anybody," Firuun said. He looked around for the highest ranking officer and pointed at the Major. "You ought to know better than to attack our war leader."

The Major looked a little sick.

"What now?" asked Carla. "We can't go back to the ship in the pod, it would open the station to space."

"Not my station, you don't," said Sheridan.

"Now we take the Marine officer, here," said Firuun, "and walk out of here. You," he addressed the boarding party, "tie up those Marines." The warriors did so. Then Firuun turned to Carla. "If you've ever dreamed of holding an officer at gunpoint, Carla the gropo, now's your chance."

Carla grinned and grabbed the Major. She pointed a Minbari ray gun at him. "This way, sir."

"What a great rescue," Sheridan said. "Too bad it's all in my head. I wonder when the walls are going to shift again? Hey, don't leave the dragon behind."

"President Sheridan?" Carla asked. "Are you on drugs, sir?"

"Lots," he confirmed. "So you're just a dream state illusion. A nice one, though. I wonder why they're letting me off without turning this into a real nightmare? Maybe I'm alone."

"Dream state," Carla breathed "President Sheridan, are you on loritril?"

"Yes."

"Oh damn."

"It's OK," Firuun said. "He's already loribonded."

"To whom?" Carla asked.

"I'm not sure. I have a guess, but I don't want to spread a rumor if I'm wrong."

"Oh."

From behind them, they heard the voice of Claire Heilig. She and her cameraman had followed the rescue party into the corridor. "What's your guess?"

"Oh, hello, reporter," said Firuun. "Nobody say anything to her," he told the other Minbari warriors. "She tends to distort things."

The boarding party got everyone but Heilig and the cameraman into a lift car. The warriors closed the doors on the reporters so they would have to take the next car. "Where should we take you, John? Medbay? Home?"

"Home. Not that it matters, since this isn't real. Hey, if this is all an illusion, can I see the Vorlon homeworld?" Sheridan looked up at the ceiling. "Hey up there, how about it?" He paused. "Nothing. Rats. Well, this beats the cell, anyway."

"Sir," said Carla. "This is real, I assure you. I know everything must look pretty strange right now. I saw some odd things when this happened to me."

"Who knew you could fit a sixty foot red dragon in an elevator?" Sheridan commented to the ceiling.

The Major went pale. "Oh my God. You're not playacting, are you?"

The door opened on Sheridan's home corridor, and they got him to his door. Firuun got him settled inside, in the nest he had built for him, and then came back out. "You can go now, Major. You served your purpose, and we got out of there without having to fire a shot. Which, I'm actually a little disappointed about."

"Aw, do I have to let him go?" Carla asked.

"Sorry. Let's get back to the ship and dump the heavy weapons. Then we can go beat somebody up in the bar."

"OK." Carla let the Major go and he backed away slowly, and finally left, looking very upset.

One of the warriors spoke to Firuun in Minbari.

Firuun said, "That would be a good idea, except he wasn't wearing his link when we rescued him. I suppose we ought to have looked for it, it must have been in the room somewhere. It's too late now, though. Wait a moment, I'll use the Babcom in his quarters."

Firuun went back inside for a moment. When he returned, they went in search of a porthole, and used a line-of-sight signaler to let their ship know their mission was accomplished.

\

In C and C, the lieutenant reported, "Jamming off, Ma'am! Getting a transmission from the war cruiser."

"Capt. Lochley, Delenn. My men have just reported success in the rescue mission. President Sheridan is safe. Now all that remains is to de-escalate the situation with the Earth Force warship, and get my rescue party back onboard."

"Thank you," Delenn said.

"You just about started a war, Captain," said Capt. Lochley. "You let us handle station internal security from now on."

"Of course, we will. In every situation in which you do not appear to have been successfully invaded by a hostile power."

"Where is Sheridan?" asked Delenn.

"In his quarters."

Delenn left C and C.

She rushed to Sheridan's quarters and found him lying in the nest, hands clasped across his belly as if he were reclining on a beach chair by the ocean. He stared at the ceiling, smiling slightly.

"John!" Delenn went to him and took his hand.

He looked at her and smiled. "I've seen you standing in my mind's eye so many times. You looked so real. But I knew you weren't there. Just like you're not really here now."

"What?"

"I wish I really were in some tent with you. Even if it's an arguing tent. But tomorrow, or tonight, or whenever they return, the vision will change again."

"John, listen to me. You are on Babylon 5."

"I thought I was on Babylon 5 before, having coffee with Steven. Except he didn't seem to know about the numbers. In the Mars Resistance. Even though he'd been there. It wasn't really Steven, and it wasn't really Babylon 5. No matter how much it looked like it. And neither is this."

"John, what happened? You were doing alright before."

He did not respond to her words. He only put out a hand and touched her face. "It was a dream. How could I imagine I would really get out of there, and win the war, and marry Delenn, and have a fairy tale ending? That's not the way life really works. A dream, nothing more."

"Stay right here. I'll get the doctor."

\

It was the fourth day since Sheridan's rescue from the wargames. Delenn had had the canvameta tent taken down at the end of the three days, although their issues were far from resolved.

Delenn admitted Lennier to Sheridan's quarters. "Thank you for coming. Are you sure you can help him?"

"I'm sure."

"Dr. Franklin said it was up to him now. He said Sheridan had to decide to believe in reality again, and that he had to do that for himself."

"I can prove this is reality, Delenn. If you'll trust me."

"Of course I trust you, Lennier. When I came to speak to you, I only meant to talk over my problems with a friend. I did not expect you to be able to do anything about this."

"I can, and I will. Leave us alone now. I'll come outside when I'm done."

"What are you going to do?"

"Save him." Lennier gestured to the door, and Delenn exited.

The first thing he did after she left was pull Sheridan out of bed and into the living room. He tossed him onto the floor.

"Hey!" Sheridan started to rise, fight in his face. The Datansho was still not completely cleared from his system, but he was sure he was a match for Lennier.

"Starkiller, down!" Lennier snapped.

Sheridan hit the deck. Then he raised his face from the floor and looked at Lennier. "Mm. No. You're not really here." Then he looked over at the clock, as if seeing it comforted him.

"Then how am I doing this?" Lennier asked. He gave Sheridan a kick in the pants.

Sheridan balled up his fists, but did not rise from the deck.

"You have no idea how tempting it is to leave you like this. Convinced nothing is real. I wonder if they have a cure for existentialism in one of those Earth asylums where they send people to become productive citizens again?"

Lennier sat down in front of Sheridan in a meditative posture. Lennier moved like a warrior now, and looked every inch the Ranger.

"It would be so easy. Just do nothing, and you become a pitiful creature. Weak. Mentally ill. You'd be impossible to live with. Perhaps Delenn would send you to one of those hospitals for the mind. And then she would be alone."

"Lennier," Sheridan said, a note of warning in his voice.

"What do you think you could do about it? What do you think you could do about anything? Do you know what I would really like to do to you, Sheridan?"

Lennier leaned close to Sheridan's face and whispered, "I want to take you to level three, in ren this time, so you'll feel less like a man. I want to make you feel less like a man, over and over, until you feel like no kind of man at all."

"You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't enjoy it," Lennier corrected. "Except the part where I watch the fire die in your eyes."

Lennier sprang up and sat on Sheridan, a threatening weight. "Why aren't you running away? Or fighting? Why aren't you resisting me, when you know I'm about to ruin you for good?"

"I can't," Sheridan grated.

"Why not?" demanded Lennier.

"Because you told me to stay down."

"And why does that matter?" Lennier asked.

Sheridan made an inarticulate sound of rage and pounded a fist on the floor.

"Say it," Lennier ordered. "Why can I command you and have you obey?"

"Because I'm loribonded to you."

"Is the bond real?" Lennier asked.

"Hell yes it's real, you just threatened to make me your bitch, I'd punch you out if I could!"

"Becoming loribonded to me was the first thing that happened after you returned to the fleet, wasn't it?" Lennier asked.

"Yes."

"The first thing that happened after you left Mars. Wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"If the loribond is real, then everything that happened after that has to be real, too, doesn't it?"

Sheridan looked over his shoulder at Lennier, slack-jawed.

"Doesn't it?" Lennier demanded.

Sheridan whispered, "Yes."

Lennier stood up and moved away. "Then all this is real, too."

Sheridan sighed in relief. "Yes. Yes. It's real. It's all real."

"I think you and I had best avoid each other from now on." Lennier stood by the door. "Good-bye, Sheridan. Loridano." Lennier exited.

Sheridan stood up and brushed imaginary dirt from the front of his jacket and pants. "Damn," he said. "Damn."

Then Delenn came in. "John? Are you alright?"

Sheridan grabbed her and kissed her like never before.

When they finally broke the clinch, Delenn smiled and asked softly, "I take it you've decided I'm real?"

"Yes," Sheridan said.

"That's a relief. I'd hate to spend the rest of my life as a figment of your imagination. Although, I suppose that would be one way to make sure I never need any of those anti-aging creams those strange people try to promote right after the ISN News."

Sheridan smiled. "I'm looking forward to growing old together."

Delenn's smile faltered. "For the next twenty years."

"It will be enough. We'll just have to pack a hundred year's worth of living into that time."

"And then?" Delenn asked.

"Then you try to find happiness again, Delenn. I know it will be waiting for you."

"I am going to pretend I don't understand what you mean. Because I don't even want to think about it. I have you today. And for however many tomorrows are granted to us."

They embraced.

The stars burned on.

The End


End file.
